io 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Mrs 


BELL  MARTIN, 


AN  AMERICAN  STORY  OF  REAL  LIFE, 


BY  T.  S?  ARTHUR, 

AUTHOR    OF    "  THE    MAIDEN,"    "  THE    WIPE," 
AND    "  THE    MOTHER." 


PHILADELPHIA: 
HENRY    F.    ANNERS. 


Entered,  according  tc  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850,  by 
HENRY    F  .   A  X  X  E  R S  , 

In  the  ClorK'g  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United 
States,  in  aud  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pen nsylvania. 


PS 

/039 


iffo 
BELL  MAETIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

SPRIGS   OP  AMERICAN  ARISTOCRACY. 

"  ARE  you  going  to  Mr.  Martin's  grand  •  come- 
off,'  to-morrow  evening,  Harry  1"  asked  one  young 
man  of  another,  as  they  lounged  in  the  bar-room 
of  the  Mansion  House. 

"  Of  course  I  am.    Will  you  be  there!" 

"  O,  yes.  I  never  miss  being  present  on  such 
occasions.  But  say,  Harry,  are  you  serious  in 
that  matter  about  pretty  Bell  f' 

"  Am  1 1  What  a  question  for  you  to  ask ! 
Certainly  I  am." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  get  around  the  old  man, 
her  father?" 

"  I  can  try.  My  family  is  as  £rood  as  his.  So 
you  see  we  are  even  there.  But  I  do  n't  think 
much  about  him,  now.  I  must  first  get  the  right 
side  of  Bell." 

"  How  do  you  expect  to  manage  that  V 

'/By  talking  sentiment,  paying  her  the  most 
flattering  attentions  possible,  and  being  her  most 
humble  servant  on  all  occasions." 

"  She  will  have  a  splendid  fortune." 

"  There  is  no  mistake  about  that." 

"  How  large  do  you  think  .'" 

3 

.   •  ':"-  '••  ::  ' 


4  BELL  MARTIN. 

•*  I  have  ascertained,  pretty  certainly,  that  old 
Martin  is  worth  about  nine  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  He  has  two  children.  They  will  divide 
at  his  death  over  three  hundred  thousand  dollars 
a  piece,  after  the  widow's  one-third  has  been 
taken  out.  And  she,  of  course,  is  not  going  to 
live  forever." 

"  Of  course  not.  And  you  would  come  in,  if 
you  had  the  daughter,  for  half  of  that  sum  also." 

"  Exactly.  Now  is  n't  there  a  glorious  prospect 
before  me  1" 

"  There  is,  really.  A  golden  opportunity,  like 
this,  must  not  pass,  unimproved." 

"  Nor  will  it." 

"How  do  you  stand  with  Belli" 

"  Pretty  fair,  I  think.  Last  week  I  was  at  a 
party  with  her,  and  broke  the  ice.  She  is  young, 
you  know,  and  as  frank  and  innocent  as  a  child. 
I  really  felt  my  heart  warm  toward  her." 

"  Indeed !  That  was  a  phenomenon !"  said  the 
friend  laughing. 

"  Was  n't  it !  But  do  n't  be  alarmed.  I  'm  not 
going  to  fall  in  love  with  her  until  I  find  the  coast 
clear." 

"  Do  n't,  if  you  please,  or  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
cut  your  acquaintance." 

"  Never  fear.  A  young  man  of  my  habits  can 't 
afford  to  fall  in  love,  unless  he  is  sure  of  success." 

"And  certain  of  gaining  a  fortune." 

"  Of  course.    That  was  pre-supposed." 

"  Are  you  going  to  buy  that  splendid  pair  of 
horses,  belonging  to  Porter,  which  you  drove  out 
yesterday  ]" 

"  I  wish  to  do  so." 

"He  asks  twelve  hundred  dollars  for  them,  I 
believe." 

"  Yes.  But  I  think  would  not  refuse  a  thousand 
if  laid  down  before  him." 


SPRIGS   OF   AMERICAN  ARISTOCRACY.  5 

"  Why  do  n't  you  take  them,  Harry  1  They  are 
worth  all  of  that." 

"  I  Ve  sounded  my  old  man  about  it.  But  he 
looks  black  so  soon  as  I  begin  to  approach  the 
subject." 

"  What  a  bore !  I  wonder  if  either  of  us  will 
ever  get  our  fingers  upon  some  of  our  dads'  cash, 
to  spend  it  as  we  please  1" 

"  I  hope  so,  one  of  these  days.  Won't  I  put  it 
in  circulation,  then!"  snapping  his  fingers,  and 
winking  with  a  knowing  look.  "It  will  be  one 
of  the  strangest  things  in  nature,  if  I  do  n't." 

"  What  an  annoyance  it  is,"  said  the  companion 
of  the  one  called  Harry,  "to  have  rich  old  fathers 
like  ours,  to  tantalize  us  with  the  idea  of  wealth 
in  prospective,  while  they  give  us  but  the  mere 
trifle  of  two  or  three  thousand  a  year  to  spend." 

"  It  is  indeed !  But  what  do  you  think  1  My 
old  man  told  me,  yesterday,  that  he  thought  it 
high  time  that  I  was  beginning  to  do  something." 

"  Do  something !" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  did  he  mean  by  that  1" 

"  Open  an  office  for  the  practice  of  law,  I  sup- 
pose. You  know  that,  to  please  him,  I  studied 
law  for  a  year  or  two — got  squeezed  through  an 
examination,  and  entered  as  a  member  of  the 
Philadelphia  bar." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  now ;  ha !  ha !  And  he 
wanted  you  to  put  up  your  sjiingle, «  Eternally  at 
Law,'  and  come  .into  association  with  the  filth  and 
off-scouring  of  this  righteous  city, — Pickpockets, 
thieves,  blackguards,  etc." 

"  Yes,  that  was  it." 

"  But  you  had  no  notion  of  such  a  thing  T 

"  Not  I.  Why  do  I  want  to  practice  law,  or  do 
any  thing  else  ?  Has  n't  the  old  man  plenty  of 


6  BELL   MARTIN. 

money  ?  Ain't  I  born  a  gentleman  1  Let  the  com- 
mon herd  work,  say  L" 

"  Ditto.  Only  about  every  tenth  man  that  is 
born,  as  some  one  has  said,  can  afford  to  do 
nothing.  Thank  fortune  !  I  am  one  of  the  decimal 
numbers." 

"  So  is  this  child.  It 's  no  use  for  the  old  man 
to  talk  to  me.  I  'm  not  going  to  open  an  office  and 
stick  up  my  name,  to  be  reduced  in  public  estima- 
tion to  a  mere  pettifogging  lawyer." 

"  But  would  n't  it  be  policy  for  you  to  do  so  T* 

"  How !" 

"  To  make  fair  weather  with  old  Martin." 

"  How  would  my  opening  an  office  make  fair 
weather  with  him  ?-" 

"  He  is  a  merchant  T' 

"  Yes." 

"And  by  industry  and  enterprise  has  quad- 
rapled  the  fortune  left  him  by  his  father." 

"  So  I  have  heard  it  said." 

"From  persevering  in  industrious  habits  him- 
self, he  has,  doubtless,  come  to  have  a  high  esti- 
mation of  industry  in  others." 

"  There  may  be  something  in  that." 

"  Naturally,  then,  he  would  be  inclined  to  think 
favorably  of  a  young  man,  pursuing,  with  appa- 
rent industry,  some  business  or  profession,  while 
he  would  look  unfavorably  upon  one  whom  he 
would  call  a  mere  idler." 

"  I  see  the  force  of-  what  you  say ;  and  wonder 
that  the  idea  never  presented  itself  to  my  mind. 
But  do  n't  you  think  the  fact  of  my  being  known 
as  only  a  young  lawyer,  would  lessen  my  estima- 
tion in  the  eyes  of  Belli" 

"I  do  n't  know.     Perhaps  it  might." 

"  I  fear  so.  She  's  a  young  romantic  thing,  and 
the  idea  of  a  common  workie — for  all  these  law- 
yers and  merchants,  and  the  like,  are  as  much 


SPRIGS    OF   AMERICAN   ARISTOCRACY.  7 

workies  as  mere  mechanics — might  give  her  a 
prejudice  against  me." 

"  There  is  force  in  that  view." 

"  And  suppose  some  foreign  earl,  or  count  were 
to  come  along  and  take  a  notion  to  her — what 
chance  would  a  mere  lawyer  have  7  None  at  all. 
O,  no  !  I  must  still  keep  up  the  gentleman,  until 
I  've  got  her  hooked,  and  then  for  scheming  it  over 
the  old  codger,  her  father !" 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  Harry  But  come, 
let 's  have  a  drink,  and  then  for  a  ride  out  to 
Howell's." 

The  two  young  sprigs  of  American  aristocracy 
then  turned  to  the  bar,  and  each  a  took  a  strong 
glass  of  brandy  punch,  preparatory  to  their  ride 
into  the  country.  Fifteen  minutes  afterward  they 
were  dashing  up  Chesnut  street  behind  a  pair  of 
beautiful  horses,  owned  by  the  friend  of  Harry, 
or  Henry  Ware,  with  feelings  of  contempt  for  the 
spiritless  pedestrians  who  plodded  along  the  side- 
walks. 

The  reader  needs  no  further  description  of  their 
characters,  than  what  they  have  themselves  given, 
to  be  able  to  appreciate  them  fully.  Both  were 
sons  of  wealthy  merchants,  wrongly  educated. 
The  systematic  labor  by  which  their  parents  had 
risen  into  wealth  and  station  in  society,  they  des- 
pised as  something  degrading.  Idle  pleasure 
seemed  to  them  the  only  worthy  object  of  pur- 
suit. Every  thing  else  was  beneath  the  station 
and  dignity  of  true  gentlemen.  Spendthrifts — 
the  Mberal  supplies  of  money  furnished  them  with 
a  false  liberality  by  their  fathers,  were  altogether 
insufficient  to  meet  their  growing  and  extrava- 
gant wants.  Hence,  the  means  of  obtaining 
more  inexhaustible  and  independent  supplies, 
soon  formed  part  of  their  thoughts.  They  had 
become  men,  and,  as  men,  were  annoyed  by 


8  BELL   MARTIN. 

what  they  esteemed  the  niggardly  parental  offer- 
ings. To  such,  marriage  presents  the  only  way 
to  obtain  the  large  amount  of  money  called  for  by 
extravagant  habits  and  unsatisfied  desires.  And 
to  thoughts  of  marriage  the'ir  minds,  especially 
that  of  Henry  Ware,  turned ;  and  he  was  about 
entering,  as  has  been  seen,  with  no  small  degree 
of  tact  and  earnestness,  upon  the  business  he  had 
laid  out  as  necessary  to  be  done; — it  is  said, 
necessary  to  be  done,  for  only  in  a  business  light 
did  young  Ware  view  the  matter.  If  he  had 
been  in  possession  of  as  much  money  as  he 
wanted,  he  would  have  thought  of  a  wife  about  the 
last  thing.  With  such  an  encumbrance,  he  would 
have  been  very  far  from  burdening  himself. 


CHAPTER  II. 

LOVE'S   YOUNG  DREAM. 

"  How  does  that  look,  Fanny  7"  asked  Bell  Mar- 
tin, turning  her  happy  face  toward  her  sister,  and 
directing  attention  to  a  beautiful  head  dress  that  a 
modest-looking  plainly  attired  girl,  about  her  own 
age,  had  been  arranging  for  her. 

"  Very  pretty  indeed,  sister ;  Mary  is  always 
tasty  in  her  devices  and  arrangements." 

"  Is  n't  she  1  We  must  try  and  find  you  a  nice 
husband,  Mary." 

Mary  smiled  quietly,  but  made  no  reply.  Her 
station  did  not  permit  her  to  return  jests,  and 
knowing  this,  she  never  attempted  to  do  so.  But 
still,  she  had  her  own  thoughts,  as  well  as  they." 

"  I  think  that  white  rose  is  a  little  toa  much  con* 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.  9 

cealed,  Mary,  do  n't  you  7"  remarked  Bell,  after 
having  surveyed  herself  for  some  time  in  the 
glass. 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  replied  Mary,  lifting  her  hand 
to  re-adjust  the  flower. 

"  But  stop,  Mary,"  interposed  the  light-hearted 
girl,  taking  hold  of  her  hand  before  she  had 
touched  the  rose.  "  That  ' perhaps'  was  rather 
coldly  said.  You  do  n't  really  think  the  flower 
too  much  hid — now  do  your' 

"  No,  I  do  not,  or  else  I  would  have  brought  it 
out  more." 

"  Then  I  won't  have  it  touched,  for  I  never 
opposed  my  taste  to  yours  yet,  that  you  were  not 
in  the  right,"  Bell  replied,  laughing. 

"  You  are  very  particular  this  evening,  sister," 
remarked  Fanny. 

"  Am  1 7    Well  I  have  my  reason  for  it." 

"  Ah  !    What  is  it  1" 

"  I  'm  going  to  captivate  young  Harry  Ware." 

"  Indeed !" 

"Yes.  I  intend  carrying  the  citadel  of  his 
heart  by  storm." 

"  Take  care  that  you  do  not  lose  ycur  own  in 
the  contest." 

"  Oh,  never  fear  but  that  I  '11  keep  fast  hold  of 
mine,  at  least  till  I  see  something  to  gain  by  a 
surrender." 

"  Harry  is  certainly  a  very  captivating  young 
man.  Do  n't  you  think  so,  Mary  7" 

Directly  appealed  to,  although  in  a  laughing 
mood,  Mary  replied  with  the  frankness  of  a  sin- 
cere heart, 

"  I  have  not  had  an  opportunity  of  observing 
him  very  closely;  but  the  little  I  have  seen  of 
him  has  not  prepossessed  me  a  great  deal  in  his 
favor." 

"  Has  n't  it,  indeed !  Miss  Demure  7" 


10  BELL  MARTIN. 

"  It  has  not,  Bell ;  but  no  doubt  I  can  judge  a 
flower  for  a  young  lady  of  your  position  in 
society,  much  better  than  I  can  a  lover." 

"  Perhaps  so.  But  why  do  n't  you  like  Harry 
Ware,  Mary  T' 

"  Did  I  say  that  I  did  not  like  him  r 

"  Xo.  But  you  said  you  were  not  prepossessed 
in  his  favor  T' 

"  That  is  true." 

"Then  why  are  you  not  prepossessed  in  his 
favor  1" 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  n't  know.  But  I  feel  as  if  I 
should' n't  like  to  see  you  the  wife  of  Mr.  Ware." 

The  voice  of  the  maiden  trembled  slightly  as 
she  said  this,  and  her  tones  had  in  them  some- 
thing of  tenderness ;  for  she  loved  Bell  Martin  and 
her  sister — although  standing  to  them  only  in  the 
relation  of  one  that  served — almost  as  purely  as 
if  they  were  of  her  own  kindred. 

"His  wife,  Mary!  How  strangely  you  talk! 
No  one  said  any  thing  about  becoming  his  wife. 
O,  dear  !  That 's  another  matter,  altogether." 

"  It 's  the  next  thing  that  follows  the  winning 
and  losing  of  hearts,  though,  I  believe,"  replied 
Mary,  the  color  on  her  cheek  deepening. 

"Is  it,  Mary  1"  Bless  me!  how  the  "girl  talks, 
And  see  how  she  is  blushing,  Fanny  !  As  I  live, 
now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  do  believe  she  has  lost 
her  heart  already.  I  thouglit  Mr.  Lane,  Pa's  head 
clerk,  came  here  pretty  often  of  late." 

This  speech  had  the  effect  to  make  poor  Mary's 
face  as  red  as  scarlet. 

"  There  !  See  that !  See  that,  Fanny !  Just 
look  at  her  face ! '  Now,  who  would  have  sus- 
pected our  modest,  quiet  Mary  T 

"  The  next  thin»  that  fallows  the  losing  and 
winning  of  hearts,  is  marriage,  I  believe,  ain't  it, 
Mary  1"  said  Fanny,  with  mock  seriousness. 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.  11 

"  O,  of  course  it  is.  How  soon  is  the  wedding 
to  take  place  ]  It  shall  be  in  this  very  house,  for 
you  are  a  good  girl,  Mary,  and  we  all  love  you," 
Bell  added,  half  laughing,  half  serious. 

The  momentary  confusion  that  this  unexpected 
sally  wrought  in  the  mind  of  Mary,  soon  subsided, 
and  she  said,  in  her  quiet  way — 

"  You  have  anticipated  what  I  should  have  told 
you  to-morrow." 

"  So  it 's  all  true,  Mary !"  ejaculated  Bell,  almost 
springing  upon  the  floor  with  delight.  Then  turn- 
ing quickly,  and  grasping  the  hand  of  the  young 
girl,  she  said,  in  a  serious  voice — 

"  None  will  rejoice  more  than  Fanny  and  my- 
self at  your  good  fortune,  Mary.  Mr.  Lane  I  have 
always  heard  spoken  of  by  Pa  in  the  highest 
terms,  and  I  am  sure  he  will  make  you  a  good 
husband.  But  we  shall  be  very  sorry  to  lose  you. 
Indeed,  I  do  not  know  what  we  will  do  when  you 
are  gone." 

"  You  can  still  feel  kindly  toward  me.  I  ask 
but  that  return  for  the  deep  interest  my  heart 
does,  and  always  must  take  in  you,"  Mary  said, 
looking  up  into  the  face  of  the  sisters,  her  eyes 
ready  to  gush  with  tears.  "  We  have  been 
together  as  little  children,  sharing  each  other's 
pleasures.  The  same  tender  care  that  was  over 
you  has  been  over  me.  And  notwithstanding,  as 
we  sprung  up  toward  womanhood,  our  relations 
to  each  other  became  necessarily  changed,  I  have 
not  loved  you  less.  Forgive  me  for  saying,  that 
I  have  loved  you  as  sisters — I  could  not  help  it." 

The  tears,  that  had  trembled  beneath  her  dark 
lashes  now  rolled  over  the  maiden's  cheek. 

"  We  will  love  you  as  a  sister,"  was  the  instant 
response  of  the  affectionate  Bell,  drawing  her  arm 
around  the  waist  of  Mary.  Our  stations  in  life 
are  different.  We  cannot  mingle  in  society 


12  BELL  MARTIN. 

together.  But  that  need  not— that  cannot  disturb 
the  sisterly  regard  we  rnust  feel  for  you.  You 
are  worthy  of  it  all,  Mary." 

A  deep  silence  followed — a  silence  in  which 
tender  emotions  were  welling  up  from  each  gen- 
tle and  affectionate  bosom.  As  they  had  never 
felt  it  before,  did  Bell  and  Fanny  feel  the  delight 
of  being  loved  fervently  by  a  pure  and  honest 
heart — even  though  it  beat  in  the  bosom  of  one 
all  unknown  to,  and  all  unappreciated  by,  the 
world. 

"  But  come,  Bell,"  said  Fanny,  breaking  in  upon 
that  deep  pause,  "  time  passes." 

"  So  it  does.  But  I  will  soon  be  ready.  Here, 
Mary,  arrange  this  scarf  for  me,  if  you  please. 
There,  that  will  do.  And  now  do  n't  you  think  I 
look  charming  ?" 

"  Very;  only  a  little — pardon  me — overdressed." 

"  That 's  according  to  your  taste,  Mary." 

•(  Of  course.    My  taste  inclines  to  the  simple." 

"  It 's  a  very  pure  taste,  T  know,  but  hardly  gives 
attractions  enough  for  one  in  my  station.  Young 
ladies  who  move  in  our  circle,  you  know,  dress 
with  a  rich  display,  sometimes." 

"  I  know  they  do.  But  they  hide,  it  seems  to 
me,  instead  of  bringing  out  their  loveliness." 

"  Perhaps  they  do.  Still,  to  quote  a  homely 
adage — '  Fine  feathers  make  fine  birds.' " 

Mary  shook  her  head,  and  smiled  a  reproof,  as 
she  said — 

"  It 's  no  use  for  me  to  argue  with  you,  Bell,  for 
while  you  give  up  your  point,  virtually,  in  argu- 
ment, you  stick  to  it  in  practice." 

"No,  Mary,  I 'do  n't  think  it  is.  I  can  admire 
the  beauty  of  simplicity  in  others — you  for  in- 
stance— but  like  a  little  finery  for  myself.  But 
hark !  there 's  the  bell.  Our  company  are  begin- 


LOVE1S  YOUNG  DREAM.  13 

ning  to  come,  and  we  must  be  down  to  receive 
them." 

Among  the  first  who  came,  were  Henry  Ware 
and  his  two  sisters,  with  whom  Bell  and  Fanny 
were  on  terms  of  intimacy.  The  young  man,  as 
has  been  seen,  had  resolved  on  making  a  con- 
quest; he,  therefore,  had  dressed  himself  with 
studied  care,  so  as  to  bring  out  into  good  effect 
his  really  attractive  person. 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice 
and  the  expression  of  his  face,  when  he  saluted 
Bell,  already  prepossessed  in  his  favor,  that  made 
her  heart  quicken  its  pulsations,  and  send  the 
blood  in  warmer  currents  to  her  cheek.  Henry 
Ware  did  not  fail  to  observe  the  slight  glow  that 
mantled  her  young  and  innocent  face,  nor  the 
pleasure  that  sparkled  in  her  eye.  They  strength- 
ened his  hope  of  success. 

"  She  is  mine,  in  spite  of  the  d — 1 !"  was  the 
elegant  and  manly  expression  of  his  thoughts, 
whispered  to  himself,  as  he  turned  from  her  to 
address  her  sister. 

Whenever,  without  attracting  particular  obser- 
vation, he  could  get  by  her  side  during  the  even- 
ing, he  was  sure  to  be'  there ;  and  all  his  conver- 
sation was  skilfully  managed,  so  as  to  excite  in 
her  mind  tender  emotions. 

Attached  to  Mr.  Martin's  elegant  residence  was 
a  large  garden,  richly  adorned  with  plants  of  the 
rarest  kinds.  It  was  laid  off  in  beautifully  ar- 
ranged walks,  with  arbors  and  alcoves,  statuary 
and  every  tasteful  device  that  could  please  the 
eye.  Always,  during  an  evening  entertainment 
in  pleasant  weather,  it  was  brilliantly  illuminated 
with  variegated  lamps,  ingeniously  arranged  into 
elegant  and  striking  figures. 

Into  this  a  portion  of  the  company  might  always 
be  found,  strolling  about,  thus  dividing  the  allure- 
2 


14  BELL  MARTIN. 

ments  of  the  social  circle  with  the  calmer  and 
more  elevating  delights  of  nature. 

"  Come,  Bell,  suppose  we  take  a  little  walk  in 
the  garden ; — the  air  of  these  rooms  is  becoming 
oppressive,"  said  Ware  to  the  gentle  girl  who 
leaned  upon  his  arm.  "  We  have  danced  and 
sung,  and  mingled  pleasantly  in  the  gay  circle 
here  for  some  two  hours.  A  change  to  the  quiet 
scene  without  will  be  very  pleasant." 

"  It  certainly  will,"  replied  Bell,  making  an  in- 
voluntary movement  toward  the  door. 

The  two  then  retired  from  the  "brilliantly  lighted 
saloon  and  gay  company,  and  entered  the  garden. 
The  air  was  mild,  and  balmy  from  the  perfume 
rising  from  a  thousand  odoriferous  flowers.  The 
moon  and  stars  looked  down  from  a  sky  of  unu- 
sual brilliancy,  and  shed  their  soft  light,  like  a  veil 
of  silver  over  all  things. 

"Beautiful!  beautiful!"  ejaculated  Bell,  as  she 
perceived  and  felt  the  loveliness  of  the  scene. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  very  beautiful !"  replied  her  com- 
panion, uttering  a  sentiment  he  scarcely  felt.  His 
mind  was  too  selfishly  interested  in  securing  the 
affections  of  the  maiden,  to  care  any  thing  about 
a  lovely  moonlight  scene,  except  so  far  as  it  might 
tend  to  aid  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  purpose. 
He  could,  therefore,  perceive  the  beauty  of  ex- 
ternal nature,  but  not  feel  it. 

Slowly,  they  took  their  way  down  one  of  the 
most  retired  alleys  of  the  garden.  Bell,  whose 
feelings  the  scene  around  had  almost  instantly 
softened  into  tenderness,  leaned  with  an  air  of 
affectionate  confidence  upon  the  arm  of  Ware, 
and  listened  to  his  artful  and  insinuating  words, 
that,  while  they  spoke  not  of  his  own  thoughts 
and  feelings,  were  fraught  with  just  the  senti- 
ments calculated  to  awaken  the  heart  of  one  so 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.  15 

young  and  by  nature  so  affectionate  as  the  inno- 
cent maiden  by  his  side. 

"  Let  us  rest  here  for  awhile,  and  enjoy  the  calm 
delight  of  this  lovely  season,"  the  young  man 
said,  after  having  strayed  through  the  garden  for 
some  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  pausing  as  he  did  so, 
before  an  arbor  thickly  shaded  by  a  vine,  upon 
which  the  yet  unripe  clusters  hung  in  luxuriant 
profusion. 

"How  much  I  enjoy  a  scene  like  this,"  he  re- 
marked, after  they  were  seated,  thus  alone.  "  It 
has  in  it  something  so  purifying  and  elevating  to 
the  spirit.  Something  that  lifts  us  above  the  base 
ideas  and  grovelling  affections  of  this  sordid 
world.  It  is  under  the  influence  of  an  hour  like 
this  that  we  feel  ourselves  to  be  immortal." 

"  Do  you  remember  L.  E.  •  L.'s  lines  '  On  a 
Star?' "  asked  Bell,  after  a  brief  silence. 

"  I  do  not." 

"That  brilliant  star,  yonder,  has  recalled  the 
touching  effusion  to  my  mind." 

"  Can  you  repeat  the  lines  to  which  you  allude  1" 

"  0  yes.  For  I  have  thought  of  them  hundreds 
of  times." 

"  Then  recite  them,  Bell." 

The  maiden  complied,  and  recited,  in  a  low 
voice,  full  of  pathos,  the  following  lines  : 

"  Beautiful  star,  that  art  wandering  through 
The  midnight  ocean's  waves  of  blue ! 
I  have  watched  since  thy  first  pale  ray 
Rose  on  the  farewell  of  summer's  day. 
From  thy  first  sweet  shine  in  the  twilight  hour, 
To  thy  present  blaze  of  beauty  and  power ! 
Would  I  could  read  my  destiny, 
Lovely  and  glorious  star,  in  thee! 
Yet  why  should  I  wish  ? — I  know  too  well 
What  thy  tablet  of  light  would  tell! 
What,  O,  what,  could  I  read  there 
But  the  depths  of  love's  despair,— 


16  BELL   MARTIN. 

Blighted  feelings,  like  leaves  that  fall 
The  first  from  April's  coronal, — 
Hopes,  like  meteors,  that  shine  and  depart — 
An  early  grave  and  a  broken  heart!" 

"  A  beautiful  beginning  but  a  sad  ending,  Bell. 
Why  should  such  poetry  be  a  favorite  with  you  1 
But  that  brilliant  star,  overhead,  if  the  star  of  thy 
destiny,  would  reveal  a  brighter  page." 

"I  hope  so.  Still,  I  have  always  loved  those 
lines,  and  have  repeated  them  over,  almost  invol- 
untarily, a  hundred  times,  until  my  feelings  have 
become  imbued  with  their  sadness.  Heaven 
grant  that  they  be  not  prophetic  of  wrecked  hopes 
and  a  broken  heart  for  me." 

Bell  spoke  with  emotion — for,  suddenly,  there 
came  over  her  heart  a  chilling  fear,  that  seemed 
like  a  prophetic  warning. 

"How  strange  that  you  should  speak  thus!" 
said  her  companion,  in  surprise.  "  You,  than 
whom  no  one  has  a  brighter  prospect; — you, 
every  footstep  of  whose  way  has,  thus  far,  been 
upon  flowers." 

"  It  is  strange  that  I  should  feel  thus.  But  it  is 
only  when  I  repeat  those  verses,  that  there  falls 
upon  my  heart  a  shadow." 

"  Then  I  would  never  repeat  them  again ;  for 
they  mock  you  with  idle  fears." 

"  I  believe  they  do,"  replied  Bell,  rallying  her- 
self with  an  effort. 

"  How  exquisitely  falls  that  music  upon  the  ear, 
softened  by  distance,"  remarked  Ware,  after 
another  pause.  "  It  comes  like  the  swelling  and 
subsiding  tones  of  the  wind-touched  ^Eolian." 

"  Music  never  came  to  me  with  such  sweet- 
ness before,"  said  the  maiden,  in  innocence  and 
simplicity.  "  It  seems  as  if  I  could  listen  to  it  for- 
ever." 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.  17 

"I  feel  the  same  subdued  and  tender  impres- 
sions," replied  the  young  man,  in  a  low,  soft  tone. 

"  But  come,"  he  added,  after  a  brief  silence, 
"  we  will  be  missed." 

"  True — true  !  I  had  forgotten,  under  the  sweet 
influence  of  the  hour,  that  others  are  to  be  thought 
of  and  regarded." 

The  two  then  returned,  slowly,  arm  in  arm 
entered  the  house,  and  rejoined  the  gay  groups 
within. 

It  was  past  two  o'clock  when  the  last  visiter  de- 
parted. Mary,  who  had  superintended  the  arrange- 
ments of  the  party,  after  all  were  gone  and  a  few 
directions  had  been  given  to  the  servants,  went 
up  to  the  room  of  Bell  and  Fanny  to  assist  in  un- 
dressing them.  She  found  the  former  seated  by 
a  window  in  a  musing  attitude,  looking  out  upon 
the  brilliant  sky. 

*•'  Come,  Mary,  you  must  attend  to  me  first,  for 
Bell  is  away  up  among  the  stars,  and  won't  be 
down  again  for  half  an  hour." 

Mary  smiled  at  this  pleasant  sally,  but  Bell  did 
not  seem  to  hear  it. 

"  There,  Mary,  you  can  go  to  star-gazing  with 
Bell  if  you  choose, — I  'm  going  to  court  a  few 
pleasant  dreams!"  she  added,  in  a  little  while, 
springing  lightly  into  bed.  In  a  few  minutes  she 
was  fast  asleep. 

Mary  turned,  and  stood  looking  for  some  mo- 
ments at  Bell,  who  was  still  lost  in  deep  abstrac- 
tion. Then  going  up  to  her,  she  laid  her  hand 
gently  on  her  arm,  and  said — 

"  Shall  I  assist  you  to  undress  1" 

"  If  you  please,  Mary,"  replied  Bell,  looking  up 
with  a  deep  sigh,  and  then  submitting  to  Mary's 
hands  in  silence.  Her  rich  attire  was  soon 
changed  for  garments  of  snowy  whiteness,  and  in 
these  she  again  took  her  place  by  the  window, 
2* 


18  BELL  MARTIN. 

and  lifted  her  young  face  once  more  to  the  sky 
that  was  sparkling  in  beauty  and  brightness. 

As  Mary  turned  to  leave  the  chamber,  she  felt 
a  strong  reluctance  to  do  so.  For  a  few  moments 
she  hesitated,  and  then  going  back,  she  said  in  a 
respectful  tone — 

"  You  do  not  seem  like  yourself  to-night,  Bell." 

The  maiden  roused  herself  again  at  this,  and 
after  looking  into  Mary's  face  for  an  instant  or 
two,  said — 

"  Come,  and  sit  down  here,  Mary." 

Mary  complied  in  silence. 

"I  am  not  myself  to-night.  In  that  you  say 
truly.  But  what  ails  me  I  cannot  tell.  I  have 
never  felt  the  influence  of  a  scene  like  this  as  I  do 
now.  It  seems  as  if  I  could  sit  and  gaze  forever 
upon  the  sky  and  its  myriads  of  beautiful  stars. 
Let  me  repeat  to  you  some  verses  of  that  exquisite 
poetess,  L.  E.  L.  They  describe  this  hour  and 
this  scene  most  beautifully. 

'  Look  up 

Toward  the  beautiful  heaven !  the  fair  moon 
Is  shining  timidly,  like  a  young  queen, 
Who  fears  to  claim  her  full  authority : 
The  stars  shine  in  her  presence ;  o'er  the  sky 
A  few  light  clouds  are  wandering,  like  the  fear 
That  even  happy  love  must  know ;  the  air 
Is  full  of  perfume  and  most  musical, 
Although  no  other  sounds  are  on  the  gale 
Than  the  soft  falling  of  the  mountain  rill 
Or  the  waving  of  the  leaves.' 

Is  that  not  appropriate  and  beautiful  ?M 

"  Very.  But  it  is  too  late  now  to  be  gazing  at 
the  moon  and  stars,  and  repeating  poetry,  Bell. 
Come,  get  into  bed  and  go  to  sleep.  A  good 
night's  repose  will  calm  down  your  over  excited 
feelings.  Come !  or  I  shall  really  think  that  in  the 


PARENTAL   ANXIETIES.  19 

effort  to  captivate  the  heart  of  Henry  Ware,  you 
have  lost  your  own  !" 

Thus  rallied,  Bell  came  more  to  herself,  and  after 
having  been  urged  again  by  Mary,  retired  to  her 
bed.  It  was  long,  however,  before  she  sunk  into 
slumber,  and  that  was  full  of  the  dreams  of  a 
maiden's  first,  pure,  ardent  love  for  one  she  fondly 
invests  with  a  thousand  perfections. 


CHAPTER  III. 

PARENTAL   ANXIETIES. 

"  AH  !  Good  morning,  Harry  !  Good  morn- 
ing !" 

"  Good  morning,  Tom.  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  ! 
How  are  you,  my  boy?  How  are  you 1"  grasping 
the  hand  that  was  extended,  and  shaking  it  long 
and  heartily. 

"  Really,  Harry,  you  seem  to  be  on  the  moun- 
tain top  this  morning." 

"  And  so  I  am.  ,  Confound  it,  old  fellow !  I  'm 
sure  of  success !" 

**  So  I  should  suspect,  after  seeing  the  peculiar 
manner  in  which  Bell  leaned  on  your  arm,  last 
night." 

"  You  observed  it,  then,  did  youl" 

"  O,  of  course." 

"And  1  felt  it,  Tom:  which  was  a  thousand 
times  better  !  She 's  mine  as  sure  as  fate !  I  knew 
that  I  would  prove  irresistible  if  I  only  laid  my- 
self out  for  it.  I  Vn  not  the  commonest  looking 
fellow  that  walks  Chestnut  street— am  1 1" 


20  BELL  MARTIN. 

"  No,  not  by  a  dozen.  But,  say,  Harry,  did  you 
break  the  ice  1" 

"Howl" 

"  Did  you  talk  love  to  her  T' 

"  O,  no  !  only  poetry  and  sentiment.  Last  night 
I  spent  most  of  the  time  in  reading  her  character, 
which  I  found  I  could  do  as  readily  as  I  can  read 
a  book." 

*  Well,  how  were  you  pleased  with  it !" 
'  Admirably,  of  course !" 

'  She  '11  make  just  the  wife  you  want !" 

'The  what)" 

'  The  wife." 

'  Fal-lal !    I  'm  not  looking  out  for  a  wife." 

*  For  what,  then  T' 

'  You  're  simple,  Tom !  For  a  fortune,  of 
course.  Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  our  con- 
versation of  yesterday  1  As  to  the  wife  part,  no 
doubt  that  will  be  well  enough.  Still,  I  'm  a  little 
afraid." 

"Of  what?" 

"  Afraid  that  she  will  love  me  too  well." 

"  Love  you  too  well  7" 

"  Aye !  There  rests  my  only  fear.  But  that 's 
her  look  out—not  mine." 

"  I  do  n't  see  any  particular  objection  to  her 
loving  you  as  hard  as  she  pleases." 

"  You  're  dull  this  morning,  Tom.  I  would  like 
a  wife,  if  I  must  have  one, — an  inevitable  neces- 
sity, I  believe,  since  my  old  man  is  so  close  with 
his  purse-strings — who  would  mind  her  own  con- 
cerns and  leUme  mind  mine.  She  might  have 
her  own  establishment  if  she  chose,  and  dash  it 
in  any  kind  of  style  that  pleased  her.  Of  course, 
I  should  want  the  same  privilege.  Now,  from 
what  I  can  see  of  Bell,  she's  not  exactly  that  kind 
of  a  body.  She  would  want  her  husband  tied  to 
her  apron  strings  all  th3  while.  Would  want  to 


PARENTAL    ANXIETIES.  21 

be  kissed  twenty  times  a  day,  and  all  that  silly 
nonsense.  Or  else  there  would  be  a  constant 
succession  of  April  showers.  Do  you  understand 
now  f" 

"  Clearly !  But  that 's  a  risk  you  will  have  to 
run.  A  consequence  that  must  be  endured,  if  it 
can  't  be  helped.  Money  will  cover  a  multitude 
of  sins  and  imperfections." 

"  You  're  right,  Tom !  and  if  she  chooses  to  in- 
dulge in  all  that  sentimental  kind  of  nonsense, 
she  must  take  the  consequence.  For  certain  it 
is,  I  can  't  stomach  it,  and  will  not.  I  '11  leave  her 
in  freedom  to  come  in  when  she  pleases,  go  out 
when  she  pleases,  and  do  what  she  pleases ;  and, 
as  I  want  nothing  but  what  is  fair,  shall  take  the 
same  privilege  myself." 

"  Precisely !  You  seem  to  be  pretty  sure  of 
her,  however]" 

"  So  I  am.  I  made  an  impression  last  night, 
that  is  not  going  to  be  effaced." 

"  But  suppose  the  old  man  will  not  consent1?" 

"  Did  you  never  hear  of  a  runaway  match, 
Tom]" 

"  O,  yes,"  laughingly. 

"  Then  you  '11  hear  of  another,  in  that  case. 
Do  you  understand  1" 

"  Perfectly !    You  're  a  rare  fellow,  Harry." 

"Ain't  II  Still,  I  must  avoid  that  last  neces- 
sity, if  possible.  It  might  stand  in  the  way  of 
my  fingering  the  old  fellow's  cash  as  soon  as  I 
wish." 

"  You  'd  better  be  looking  out  for  an  office 
then,  had  n't  you  3" 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  had.  Confound  the  neces- 
sity !  What  fools  some  of  these  old  codgers  are ! 
A  man  is  nothing  in  their  eyes,  unless  he  is  a 
workie.  Pah !" 

"What  a  figure   you  will   cut,  sitting   with 


22  BELL  MARTIN. 

solemn  importance  in  your  office,  surrounded 
with  books,  and  a  tin  sign  on  your  window — 
*  Henry  Ware,  Attorney  at  Law.'  Ha  !  ha  !  ha !" 

"  Do  hush,  Tom !  or  I  shall  get  sick !" 

"  It  '11  have  to  be  done,  though.  I  wonder  who 
will  be  your  first  client  7" 

"  Some  loafer,  up  for  assault  and  battery,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  As  likely  as  not.  But  come,  I  have  an  engage- 
ment at  twelve,  and  it  is  that  now." 

"  Let  us  drink  first,"  replied  Harry,  and  turn- 
ing to  the  bar-keeper — for  they  had  met,  as  usual, 
in  a  tavern — ordered  some  brandy.  The  two 
worthies  then  drank  success  to  Harry's  enter- 
prise, and  parted. 

It  was,  probably,  an  hour  after  that  young 
Ware  entered  his  father's  counting-room,  and 
after  glancing  over  the  newspapers,  sought  an 
opportunity  to  converse  with  the  old  gentleman. 

"  I  've  been  thinking  a  good  deal  about  what 
you  suggested  a  few  days  ago,  father,"  he  said, 
with  a  serious  air. 

"  Well,  to  what  conclusion  have  you  come  T' 
was  the  reply,  in  a  grave  tone. 

"  That  you  are  right.  A  young  man  of  my  age 
ought  not  to  be  spending  his  time  so  idly  as  I  am 
now  doing." 

"  You  have  concluded  to  open  an  office,  then  ?" 

"  I  have.  And  if  you  will  furnish  me  with  the 
necessary  books,  I  will  put  myself  down  to  busi- 
ness at  once." 

"That  is  right,  Henry,"  said  Mr.  Ware,  in  a 
cheerful  tone,  his  face  suddenly  brightening. 
"  Your  repugnance  to  any  kind  of  business,  has 
been  to  me  a  source  of  great  anxiety.  Idle  plea- 
sure-taking, let  me  assure  you,  Henry,  is  the 
poorest  possible  way  in  which  to  seek  for  real 


PARENTAL    ANXIETIES.  23 

happiness.  In  that  path  it  never  has,  and  never 
will  be  found." 

"I  believe  you  are  right,"  replied  the  son,  with 
hypocritical  gravity.  "  I  am  sure,  that  in  mere 
pleasure-taking,  as  you  term  it,  I  have  never 
realized  any  thing  to  give  true  satisfaction  to  the 
mind." 

"And  you  never  will,  rest  assured,  if  you 
rpursue  that  course.  Most  truly  do  I  rejoice  to 
find  a  better  perception  of  things  dawning  upon 
your  mind.  If  you  will  only  enter  upon  your 
profession  with  application,  energy,  and  indus- 
try, you  must  rise  into  eminence,  for  you  have, 
naturally,  a  mind  that  is  active,  and  compre- 
hensive in  its  grasp.  Or,  if  you  should  prefer 
entering  into  business  with  me,  the  way  is  open 
and  a  quicker  road  to  independence,  before  you. 
Here  is  capital  and  every  facility  that  may  be 
needed." 

"  I  think  I  should  prefer  law,"  replied  the  son, 
after  musing  for  an  instant  or  two.  "  It  offers  a 
better  field  for  the  exercise  of  talents." 

"So  it  does.  Let  it  be  law,  then.  I  am 
satisfied.  So  soon  as  you  meet  with  an  office  to 
suit  you,  let  me  know,  and  I  will  have  it  fitted 
up  handsomely.  In  the  mean  time,  furnish  me 
with  a  list  of  such  books  as  you  want,  and  they 
shall  be  ready." 

"  I  will  hand  you  a  list  to-morrow,"  replied 
Henry. 

After  half  an  hour's  further  conference,  which 
ended  in  the  transference  of  a  check  to  the  young 
man  for  two  hundred  dollars,  he  left  the  counting- 
room.  A  few  hours  after,  he  met  his  crony,  Tom, 
or  Thomas  Handy. 

"  Well,  Tom,  I  've  talked  to  the  old  man  about 
that  law  office,"  was  his  salutation. 


24  BELL  MARTIN. 

"  You  are  quick  on  the  trigger !  How  was  he 
pleased  V 

"  Tickled  to  death,  of  course !  He  thinks  that 
i  '11  be  second  to  none  at  the  bar,  if  I  only  devote 
myself  to  the  profession  with  untiring  zeal  and 
industry." 

"  Indeed !    That 's  flattering !" 

"Ain't  it?  Untiring  zeal  and  industry!  Oh, 
dear !  That  would  be  a  catastrophe,  as  old  What- 
do-ye-call-him  says." 

"  He  thought  you  in  solemn  earnest,  then1?" 

"  Of  course.  And  gave  me  some  capital  good 
advice,  though,  for  the  soul  of  me,  I  can  't  recol- 
lect a  word  of  it  now." 

"  No  consequence." 

"  But  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  do  recollect." 

"  Well !" 

"  How  I  came  over  him  too  nicely  for  a  couple 
of  hundred." 

"  Indeed !" 

"  It 's  a  fact.  I  talked,  and  talked,  until  I  got 
him  in  a  capital  good  humor,  and  then  came  down 
upon  him  for  a  check.  He  was  completely  cor- 
nered, and  could  not  say  no.  So  here  's  the 
hundred  I  borrowed  of  you  last  week,  and  much 
obliged  to  you.  The  other  hundred  will  pay  off 
a  small  debt  or  two,  and  leave  me  a  little  spend- 
ing money.  My  stock  was  getting  rather  low." 

While  Henry  Ware  was  thus,  in  cold,  unprin- 
cipled heartlessness,  laying  his  plans  for  securing 
the  hand  of  a  pure-minded,  intelligent,  affectionate 
girl,  Bell's  heart  was  trembling  with  love's  first 
and  tenderest  emotions.  The  expression  of  his 
face,  as  he  looked  into  hers,  the  tones  of  his  voice, 
if  not  the  words  he  had  uttered,  all  told  her  that 
she  had  awakened  an  interest  in  his  feelings ;  and 
even  in  many  a  remembered  word,  could  she 


PARENTAL   ANXIETIES.  25 

trace  a  meaning  that  plainly  spoke  of  love.    She 
was,  of  course,  in  a  dreamy,  abstracted  mood. 

•Mr.  Martin,  whose  ardent  affection  for  his 
children  made  him  observant  of  them,  had  no- 
ticed on  the  preceding  evening  that  young  Ware 
was  over  attentive  to  Bell.  He  was  not  pleased 
to  see  this,  for  he  understood  the  young  man's 
character  pretty  thoroughly.  He  did  not  sup- 
pose these  attentions  had  any  thing  serious  in 
them.  Still,  a  fear  that  such  might  be  the  case, 
was  naturally  awakened.  Once  during  the  even- 
ing he  had  missed  them  for  some  time,  and  was 
just  on  the  eve  of  strolling  out  into  the  garden  to 
see  if  they  were  lingering  there,  when  they  came 
in,  and  separating  from  each  other,  mingled  gene- 
rally with  the  company.  He  could  not  but  notice, 
however,  that  Bell's  eye  wandered  too  frequently 
toward  the  young  man,  with  a  look  of  interest. 
This  troubled  him  for  the  moment— but  he  soon 
dismissed  it  as  an  idle  fear. 

Several  times  during  the  next  day,  as  oppor- 
tunity for  observation  presented  itself,  he  could 
not  but  observe  that  Bell  had  a  look  of  quiet 
abstraction  that  was  unusual  to  her.  This  re- 
called to  his  mind  the  preceding  evening,  and  the 
feeling  of  uneasiness  that  was  then  experienced 
returned. 

"  Have  you  noticed  Bell  particularly  to-day  1" 
he  inquired  of  her  mother,  as  they  sat  alone  that 
evening. 

"  I  have  not.    Why  do  you  ask  T' 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  she  is  not  altogether  in  as 
good  spirits  as  usual." 

"  Now  you  mention  it,  I  do  remember  that  she 
has  appeared  rather  dull.  Perhaps  it  is  from 
fatigue.  You  know  she  danced  a  good  deal  last 
night,  and  that  it  was  late  before  any  of  us  got  to 
bed." 

3 


26  BELL   MARTIN. 

"  Very  true.  But  still,  I  have  thought  that  there 
might  possibly  be  another  reason." 

"  VVhat  other  reason  could  there  be  1" 

"  Did  n't  you  observe  that  young  Ware  was 
over  attentive  to  her  last  night  1" 

"  Young  Henry  Ware  ]" 

"  Yes." 

"  No,  I  did  not." 

"Well,  he  was  a  good  deal  more  so  than 
pleased  me." 

"  Henry  Ware !  Why,  he 's  not  out  of  his  teens 
yet,  is  he  1" 

"Yes,  he  is,  and  thinks  himself  of  no  little 
degree  of  consequence.  I  never  was  much  pre- 
possessed in  his  favor,  however,  though  I  esteem 
his  father  very  highly,  as  a  man  of  sterling  prin- 
ciples. Pity  that  his  son  did  not  more  resemble 
him." 

"I  should  not  like  Henry  Ware  to  become 
attached  to  Bell.  He  is  not  the  man  that  pleases 
my  fancy." 

"  Nor  mine  either.  Indeed,  I  should  esteem  it 
a  calamity  to  our  family  for  one  of  my  daughters 
to  have  her  affections  called  out  by  a  young  man 
who  possesses  no  more  claims  to  estimation 
than  he." 

"  And  yet  what  are  we  to  do  1"  said  the  mother, 
in  a  serious  tone.  "  We  cannot  deny  him  our 
house,  nor  can  we  refuse  to  let  Bell  attend  parties 
where  we  know  he  will  be  present." 

"  All  too  true,"  replied  Mr.  Martin.  "  Our  fami- 
lies are  on  terms  of  intimacy,  and  his  father  is  one 
of  my  oldest  and  firmest  friends.  Still,  regard 
for  old  Mr.  Ware  ought  not  to  be  a  sufficient 
reason  why  I  should  sacrifice  my  daughter  to  his 
worthless  son." 

"  That  is  very  true.  And  yet  no  real  danger 
may  exist.  The  young  man  may  never  have  had 


PARENTAL   ANXIETIES.  27 

a  serious  thought  of  marriage — or  a  single  regard 
beyond  that  of  mere  friendship  for  Bell." 

"That  may  be— but  I  fear  it  is  otherwise. 
They  were  together  a  great  deal  last  evening, 
and  to-day  Bell  is  evidently  changed,  and  far 
more  pensive  and  thoughtful  than  usual." 

"  You  really  alarm  me !"  replied  Mrs.  Martin, 
in  a  voice  of  concern. 

r  "  There  is  cause  of  serious  alarm ;  and  that  is 
why  I  haye  spoken  on  the  subject,"  rejoined  her 
husband.  "Now  is  the  point  of  time  in  our 
daughters'  histories,  when  a  false  step  may  wreck 
their  hopes  forever.  How  many,  alas !  how  many 
sweet  girls  have  we  seen  in  the  last  twenty  years, 
with  hearts  as  pure  and  innocent,  and  hopes  as 
brilliant  as  those  of  our  own  dear  children,  thrown 
down  from  the  pinnacle  of  happiness  to  hopeless 
misery  by  marriage.  You  remember  Anne  Mil- 
ford — one  of  the  gentlest  and  loveliest  of  her  sex; 
how  her  affections  were  won  by  a  man  who  has 
not  only  dragged  her  down,  down,  down,  into 
abject  poverty,  but  who  never  could  and  never 
did  return  a  tithe  of  the  deep  love  she  lavished 
upon  him.  I  met  her  in  the  street  to-day.  Her 
pale,  sad  face,  with  its  dreamy  expression,  made 
my  heart  ache." 

"But  even  if  young  Ware  should  have  made 
an  impression  on  Bell's  mind — and  even  if  it  were 
to  end  in  marriage,  which  Heaven  forbid !  she 
can  never  be  reduced  to  want,  as  poor  Anne  has 
been." 

"  There  is  no  guaranty  for  that,  in  such  a  man 
as  the  son  of  Mr.  Ware." 

"Why  not'1?" 

"  He  will  never  earn  a  dollar,  unless  driven  to 
it  by  necessity ;  and  even  then,  the  little  that  he 
would  make  would  be  of  no  account." 

"  But  both  his  father  and  you  are  rich/' 


28  BELL   MARTIN. 

"Riches,  says  the  good  Book,  take  to  them- 
selves wings  and  fly  away,  Fanny." 

"True,  but " 

"Your  observation  and  my  own,"  said  Mr. 
Martin,  interrupting  his  wife,  "prove  that  the 
wealth  which  is  accumulated  by  a  man  in  this 
country,  rarely  reaches  his  grand-children.  In 
four  cases  out  of  five,  it  is  all  gone  in  a  few  years 
after  his  death—scattered  by  improvident  child- 
ren, who,  never  having  earned  a  dollar  have  no 
idea  of  the  value  of  money.  Henry  Ware  is  just 
the  man  to  squander,  with  a  rapidity  four-fold 
greater  than  his  father  ever  accumulated.  I  will 
pass  away  in  a  brief  period,  and  so  will  that  ex- 
cellent old  man  his  father;  and  then,  if  Bell  should 
be  his  wife,  it  will  take  only  a  few  years  to  bring 
them  down  to  want  and  obscurity.  It  makes  my 
heart  sick,  Fanny,  to  think  of  it.  I  would  a  hun- 
dred times  rather  see  her  the  wife  of  Mr.  Lane, 
than  of  that  young  spendthrift.  He,  though  poor 
now,  is  a  man  of  principle,  and  has  habits  of  atten- 
tion to  business.  He  must  rise  in  the  world,  while 
the  other  will  as  certainly  sink.  In  this  country, 
all  men,  sooner  or  later,  find  their  level.  True 
merit,  united  with  persevering  industry,  must  rise 
into  positions  of  influence  and  wealth,  while  idle- 
ness and  extravagance  must  as  inevitably  sink 
into  obscurity  and  dependence. 

"  Of  course,  Bell  could  not  fancy  him." 

"No,  nor  he  Bell,  I  suppose.  They  do  not  now 
stand  upon  the  same  level ;  and  where  there  is  not 
true  equality,  there  cannot  be  a  true  reciprocal 
affection.  But  do  you  know  that  he  has  taken  a 
fancy  to  our  Mary  1" 

"  Yes,  I  learned  it  for  the  first  time  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  And  it  delighted  you,  of  course?" 

"  It  did.    Mary  is  one  of  the  best  of  girls,  and 


OPENING  AN   OFFICE.  29 

I  have  always  felt  strongly  attached  to  her.  To 
know  that  she  is  going  to  do  so  well,  gives  me  a 
sincere  pleasure — though  I  shall  be  sorry  indeed 
to  lose  her." 

"  Mr.  Lane  mentioned  it  to  me  to-day,  and  I 
said,  '  take  her  with  all  my  heart !  I  believe  you 
are  worthy  of  each  other.'  How  glad  I  shall  feel 
if  I  can  only  say  the  same  when  the  hands  of  my 
^daughters  are  asked.  But  young  ladies,  occupy- 
ing their  position  in  society,  are  surrounded  with 
dangers  on  every  hand,  and  it  is  little  less  than  a 
miracle  if  they  escape.  Idle  fortune-hunters  are 
ever  on  the  alert  with  insidious  arts  to  ensnare 
their  -guileless  affections,  and  are,  alas  !  too  often 
successful." 

"  May  such  a  one  never  be  successful  in  win- 
ning the  love  of  either  of  my  children!" 

"  Amen !"  was  the  heartfelt  response  of  Mr. 
Martin. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OPENING     AN     OFFICE. 

IT  was  about  a  week  after  the  conversations, 
recorded  in  the  last  chapter,  occurred,  that  a 
party  was  given  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ware.  The 
Martins  were  present.  The  father  of  Bell  had  his 
eye  upon  her  with  a  careful  interest.  His  fears 
were  soon  awakened  anew,  for  Henry  got  by  her 
side  early  in  the  evening,  and  held  his  place  there 
with  a  steadiness  that  Mr.  Martin  felt  augured  no 
good.  As  for  Bell,  she  was  in  the  finest  spirits 
imaginable. 

3* 


d(J  BELL  MARTIN. 

"  How  does  Henry  come  on  now  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Martin  of  Mr.  Ware,  as  the  two  sat  conversing 
familiarly. 

"  I  am  glad  to  say  that  there  has  been,  what  I 
esteem,  a  great  change  in  him  of  late,"  replied  the 
father,  with  a  pleased  manner. 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  I  am  really  gratified  to  hear  it." 

"  You  are  aware,  that  he  has, -all  along,  evinced 
no  inclination  to  settle  himself  down  to  any  bu- 
siness V 

"  Yes,  I  have  observed  as  much." 

"I  believe  he  has  seen  his  folly,  for  he  has 
taken  an  office  with  a  determination  to  do  some- 
thing." 

"  He  studied  law,  I  believe  T' 

"Yes — and  passed  an  excellent  examination, 
more  than  a  year  ago." 

"  Truly,  what  you  say  is  gratifying.  Like  too 
many  of  the  sons  of  our  wealthy  men,  Henry,  I 
suppose,  has  not  been  able  to  see  the  necessity 
of  applying  himself  to  any  business." 

"  That  has  been  his  error." 

"  And  a  very  fatal  one  it  is,  Mr.  Ware.  Until 
our  young  men  feel  that  there  is  just  the  same 
necessity  for  them  to  enter  into  and  attend  to 
business  with  persevering  industry,  as  there  was 
for  their  fathers,  there  will  be  no  guaranty  for 
their  retaining  the  positions  to  which  they  have 
been  elevated.  Young  men  of  humble  origin  and 
no  pecuniary  resources,  will  gradually  rise  up  and 
take  the  places  which  they  have  proved  unworthy 
to  fill." 

4<  So  I  have  told  Henry  many  and  many  a  time. 
But,  until  now,  he  has  never  felt  the  force  of  what 
I  said." 

"  You  must  feel,  greatly  encouraged  for  him  1" 

"  No  one  can  tell  how  much.  He  is  my  only 
son— to  see  him  running  a  round  of  idleness,  and, 


OPENING  AN   OFFICE.  31 

I  might  say,  dissipation,  has  pained  me  more  than 
I  can  tell.  But  he  has  suddenly  paused,  and  re- 
flected. I  know  not  why — I  do  not  ask  why. 
The  fact  is  all  that  concerns  me." 

"You  have  confidence  in  the  permanency  of 
his  good  resolutions  1" 

"I  do  not  permit  myself  to  doubt,  Mr.  Martin. 
flook  only  to  the  happy  results  that  must  follow 
the  change,  and  look  with  feelings  of  pride  as  well 
as  pleasure.  He  is  a  young  man  of  fine  mind,  and 
must  soon  begin  to  take  a  place  in  his  profession 
that  will  flatter  his  pride,  and  spur  him  onward  to 
higher  attainments.  This  is  my  calculation — and 
I  believe  I  am  right." 

"  Most  earnestly  do  I  hope  that  this  may  be  the 
result." 

How  far  the  anticipations  of  the  father  were  in 
the  way  of  being  realized,  the  reader  will  be  able 
to  judge  by  the  following  conversation,  which 
took  place  at  Harry's  new  office,  with  his  par- 
ticular friend  and  associate,  Tom  Handy.  One 
of  the  appendages  to  this  office  was  an  upper 
room,  neatly  furnished.  In  this  the  two  young 
men  were  seated,  their  feet  upon  a  table,  on 
which  were  glasses  and  wine  in  coolers,  filling 
the  room  with  clouds  of  smoke  from  two  real 
Havanas. 

"  This  opening  an  office  is  not  such  a  bad  idea, 
after  all,  is  it,  Tom  V  said  young  Ware,  with  a 
knowing  leer,  as  he  slowly  drew^his  segar  from 
his  mouth,  and  then  watched  the  wreaths  of 
smoke,  that  he  leisurely  puffed  out,  curling  up 
toward  the  .ceiling  and  gradually  dissolving  in 
air. 

.  "  No,  indeed— it 's  a  capital  one,"  replied  his 
crony,  lazily  taking  his  segar  from  his  teeth,  and 
suffering  the  smoke,  in  turn,  to  float  in  thick 
clouds  about  his  head.  "  No  doubt  your  old  man 


32  BELL   MARTIN. 

thinks  you  now  deeply  immersed  in  the  mysteries 
of  legal  reports  or  some  such  interesting  employ- 
ment. Or,  perhaps  he  is  at  this  very  time  ima- 
gining that  you  are  engaged  with  a  client,  who, 
conscious  of  your  superior  legal  knowledge,  has 
chosen  you  to  represent  him  in  some  cause  of 
vast  importance—" 

"And  delighting  himself,  in  imagination,  with 
the  sensation  my  maiden  speech  will  produce !" 

"  Suppose  a  case  were  really  offered  you  1" 

"  I  should  decline  it,  of  course.  I  'm  not  going 
to  make  a  fool  of  myself  in  that  court-room,  I 
know.  What  do  I  know  of  law  T' 

"  Not  much,  I  should  imagine." 

"  About  as  much  as  a  dog  does  of  Latin." 

"  And  that  is  as  much  as  you  ever  intend  to 
know  ?" 

"  Precisely.  I  have  but  one  case  on  hand,  and 
that 's  the  only  one  I  ever  intend  to  have.  As  far 
as  that  is  concerned,  I  believe  I  am  fully  ready  to 
maintain  my  position  against  any  opponent  who 
may  present  himself." 

"  What  case  is  that,  pray?" 

"  My  case  in  the  court  of  love." 

"  True.    I  had  forgotten." 

"It  required  an  office,  you  know,  to  give  me 
importance,  and  thus  ensure  success.  When  that 
suit  is  gained,  good-bye  to  law,  office  and  library. 
They  may  float  in  the  Schuylkill  for  aught  I  care." 

"  Every  thing  went  off  to  a  charm  last  night,  I 
believe  7" 

"  O  yes,  so  far  as  Bell  was  concerned.  But  I 
can  't  say  that  I  liked  the  way  old  Martin  and  his 
wife  eyed  me,  every  now  and  then.  They  're  a 
little  suspicious,  I  believe,  of  my  design." 

"  You  '11  have  to  fight  shy  for  awhile." 

"  Yes,  I  will ;  at  least  until  I  can  get  into  the  old 
folks  good  graces." 


OPENING  AN   OFFICE.  33 

"  How  will  you  manage  that  1" 

"  I  've  been  scheming  over  a  plan  all  the  mor- 
ning." 

"  Well,  have  you  hit  upon  anything!" 

"  Yes — and  I  think  it  will  do." 

"  What  is  it  T 

"  You  know  my  way  to  this  office,  from  home, 
is  fight  by  old  Martin's  counting-room  T' 

"  Yes." 

"  I  'm  going  to  get  a  green  bag  made,  of  pretty 
liberal  capacity,  and  carry  it  backward  and  for- 
ward in  my  hand,  once  or  twice  a  day,  with  an 
air  of  great  business  importance." 

"  You  must  manage,  occasionly,  to  let  the  end 
of  a  document,  plentifully  supplied  with  red  tape 
and  big  seals,  protrude  from  it,  as  if  you  had  thrust 
in  your  papers  hurriedly." 

"  That 's  a  capital  suggestion,  Tom,  and  I  shall 
be  sure  to  adopt  it.  Do  n't  you  think  it  will  have 
a  good  effect  ?" 

"  It  can  do  no  harm,  at  least." 

"So  I  think — and  may  do  good.  As  for  Bell, 
she  's  safe.  I  could  see  that  she  was  dull,  except 
when  with  me,  last  night,  and  then  she  was  as 
lively  as  a  cricket." 

"  I  noticed  that,  too— and  I  noticed  more." 

"  What  was  that  1" 

"  That  she  was  a  sweet,  interesting  girl — and 
decidedly  the  handsomest  one  in  the  room." 

"  Do  you  think  so  1" 

"  I  do  really.  It  would  be  no  sin  for  you  to  love 
her  in  downright  earnest,  Harry." 

"  So  I  thought  last  night.  But  I  can 't  go  that. 
I  should  soon  get  sick  of  it,  and  it  would  only  spoil 
her,  into  the  bargain." 

"  Fanny  looked  a  very  picture  of  loveliness,  also." 

"  I  did  n't  take  much  notice  of  her." 

"I  did  then." 


34  BELL   MARTIN. 

"Suppose  you  spruce  up  to  her,  Toml  She 
will  have  the  rino,  of  course,  equal  to  Bell." 

"So  I  thought.  But  I  can't  marry  yet,  unless 
compelled  to  do  so,  which  I  'm  afraid  will  be  the 
case,  as  my  old  man  seems  inclined  to  cut  off,  in- 
stead of  increasing,  supplies." 

"  Indeed !    That 's  bad.    How  has  it  happened  1" 

"  He  says  that  he  does  not  feel  willing  to  support 
me  in  what  he  calls,  idleness  any  longer — and  that 
if  I  will  not  go  into  his  store  and  go  to  work,  he 
will  turn  me  loose  upon  the  world,  to  shift  for  my- 
self." 

"The  old  rascal!  But  pardon  me,  Tom!  I 
could  not  but  feel  indignant  at  such  downright 
unnatural  conduct." 

"  No  offence,  Harry.  Though  I  must  say,  you 
indulged  in  great  plainness  of  speech." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ]" 

"  Heaven  alone  knows,  for  I  do  n't." 

"  You  do  not  intend  going  into  the  store,  of 
course  1" 

"Hardly." 

"  You  'd  better  speak  quick  for  Fanny,  before 
somebody  else  steps  in.  I  should  like  to  have  you 
for  a  brother-in-law,  above  all  things." 

"  Thank  you,  Harry !  But  I  must  take  a  little 
time  to  consider  the  matter.  The  truth  is,  I  do  n't 
want  a  wife  if  I  can  keep  free.  But,  if  I  must  take 
one,  I  see  no  particular  objection  to  Fan." 

Henry  Ware  was  in  earnest  in  reference  to  the 
green  bag,  which  he  procured  and  regularly  carried 
to  and  fro,  between  his  office  and  home,  at  least 
once  every  day.  Two  or  three  books  were  of 
course  thrown  into  it— and,  acting  upon  his  friend 
Tom's  suggestion,  he  now  and  then  managed  to 
let  the  end  of  a  thick  roll  of  paper,  tied  with  red 
tape,  peep  carelessly  out.  The  effect  of  this  upon 
the  mind  of  Mr.  Martin  he  had  truly  calculated. 


OPENING   AN   OFFICE.  35 

The  old  gentleman,  who  now  had  good  reason  for 
observing  him,  did  not  fail  to  notice  the  regularity 
with  which  Henry  went  by  on  his  way  to  his  office, 
and  particularly  w«s  his  eye  caught  by  the  green, 
well-filled  bag.  All  this  caused  him  to  regard  the 
young  man  less  unfavorably. 

"  Who  came  in  just  now  3"  he  asked  of  his  wife 
one  evening  about  two  weeks  after  Harry  had  be- 
gun to  carry  his  green  bag.  "  Some  one  rung  the 
bell." 

"  It 's  Henry  Ware  and  his  sisters,  I  believe." 

"  Henry  Ware  ]" 

«  Yes." 

"  He  was  here  with  his  sisters  one  evening  last 
week,  was  he  not  1" 

"Yes." 

"  Next  week,  I  suppose,  he  will  come  alone." 

"  Do  you  really  think  he  is  seriously  inclined 
toward  Bell  1"  the  mother  asked. 

"  I  'm  afraid  so,  Fanny ;  and  what  is  more,  I  'm 
ajraid  that  Bell  is  becoming  seriously  inclined  to- 
ward him.  Several  times  I  have  mentioned  his 
name  on  purpose  to  see  its  effect  upon  her,  and 
the  color  has  instantly  risen  to  her  cheek." 

"  I  have  noticed  the  same  thing  myself,"  replied 
the  mother  with  much  concern  in  her  voice. 
"  What  is  to  be  done  if  she  should  really  love  him, 
and  he  should  make  an  offer  for  her  hand  7" 

"  We  shall,  in  that  case,  have  to  let  them  marry, 
I  suppose,  and  take  their  chance,"  remarked  the 
father  in  rather  a  gloomy  tone. 

-"  Surely  not !  It  would  be  cruel  in  us  to  let  such 
a  sacrifice  take  place." 

"But  we  could  not  help  it,  Fanny.  When  a 
young  thing  like  Bell  once  gets  fairly  in  love  no 
reason  can  reach  her.  All  opposition  is  vain,  and 
must  be  finally  overcome.  My  observation  con- 
vinces me,  that  the  best  way  is  to  let  matters  take 


36  BELL  MARTIN. 

their  course,  and  then  try  and  make  the  best  of 
every  thing." 

"  I  cannot,  indeed  I  cannot  think  of  consenting 
to  such  a  marriage,  which  must  inevitably  end  in 
heart  breaking  misery  to  our  chiid,"  said  the  mo- 
ther, the  tears  starting  to  her  eyes. 

"  It  will  not  be  so  bad  as  that,  I  begin  to  hope," 
replied  Mr.  Martin,  encouragingly. — "  You  know 
what  Mr.  Ware  told  me  about  the  change  that  had 
taken  place  in  his  son  V* 

"  But  I  have  no  confidence  in  it." 

"Nor  had  I,  at  first.  But  I  really  now  think 
that  the  young  man  may  be  in  earnest.  He  passes 
my  store  regularly  every  day  to  his  office,  and  is 
no  doubt  already  getting  into  buisness,  for,  of  late, 
he  has  his  bag  of  books  and  papers  with  him  every 
morning  and  afternoon,  and  begins  to  have  quite 
a  thoughtful  air.  He  has  mind  enough,  and  if  he 
only  turn  himself  industriously  to  the  profession 
he  has  chosen,  he  must  rise,  inevitably,  to  distinc- 
tion. Perhaps  the  chord  of  ambition  may  have 
already  been  touched.  If  so,  he  is  safe." 

The  mother  did  not  fall  so  readily  into  this  idea. 
Still,  it  relieved  her  mind  a  good  deal ;  and  both, 
from  that  time,  began  to  look  upon  the  young 
man  with  more  favorable  eyes. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A    GAMING   ADVENTURE. 

ONE  day,  about  three  months  subsequent  to  the 
time  in  which  occurred  the  incidents  just  related, 
Henry  Ware  called  upon  Mr.  Martin  at  his  count- 


A  GAMING   ADVENTURE.  37 

ing-room.  After  passing  a  few  common-place  re- 
marks, the  young  man  said,  with  a  serious  air — 

"  I  should  like  to  have  a  little  private  conversa- 
•  tion  with  you,  Mr.  Martin." 

"  Certainly,  Henry,"  replied  Mr.  Martin,  though 
not  in  a  very  encouraging  tone.  "  We  shall  be 
uninterrupted  here,  as  all  my  clerks  are  engaged 
aft  present  in  the  store  and  will  be  so  for  some 
time." 

"  You  know,  sir,"  began  the  young  man  after 
a  few  moments'  hesitation,  "that  I  have  visited 
your  daughter,  Bell,  pretty  often  of  late." 

"  I  have  observed  as  much,"  was  the  cold  re- 
sponse. 

"  In  doing  so,"  resumed  Ware,  "  I  have  been  in- 
fluenced by  an  admiration  and  a  regard  for  her 
that  have  fast  ripened  into  affection.  In  a  word, 
sir,  my  errand  here  to-day  is  to  ask  of  you  her 
hand  in  marriage." 

"  You  ask  of  me,  Henry,  that  which  I  cannot 
lightly  give,"  replied  Mr.  Martin,  with  a  still  graver 
look  and  tone.  "  A  father  who  loves  his  children 
as  I  love  mine,  must  be  fully  satisfied  that  they 
will  be  happy,  ere  he  can  consent  to  their  mar- 
riage." 

*•  I  should  have  much  mistaken  the  character  of 
Mr.  Martin,  if  he  were  to  act  otherwise,"  the  young 
man  said,  with  a  perfectly  unembarrassed  manner. 
"  No  father  ought  to  give  his  consent  to  the  mar- 
riage of  his  child,  without  being  fully  satisfied  as  to 
the"  character  of  the  man  who  proposes  for  her 
hand.  I  do  not,  therefore,  expect  you  to  accept 
of  my  proposal  at  once.  But  your  manner  leads 
me  to  infer,  that  in  your  mind,  there  are  objections 
to  me.  Am  I  right  1" 

Ware  was  perfectly  cool  and  self-possessed. 

"  You  are  right  in  your  inference,"  was  Mr. 
Martin's  answer.  "You  know,  Henry,  that,  like 
4 


33  BELL   MARTIN. 

your  father,  I  am  a  man  of  buisness  views  and 
habits.  One  who  has  been,  mainly,  the  architect 
of  his  own  fortune ;  and  one  who  values  in  others 
the  same  qualities  and  habits  that  have  made  him, 
successful  in  life.  These,  he  has  not  perceived  in 
you— or,  at  least  only,  in  very  feeble  activity. 
The  man  who,  with  my  consent,  marries  either 
Fanny  or  Bell,  must  be  a  man  of  energy,  industry, 
and  sound  views  and  principles.  These  will  bear 
him  up  under  all  circumstances.  These  will  pre- 
serve him  amid  temptations.  These  will  be  a 
guaranty  for  my  daughters'  happiness." 

"  I  fully  appreciate  what  you  say,  Mr.  Martin," 
returned  Ware.  "  Your  own  success  in  life,  and 
that  of  my  father,  are  strong  illustrations  of  the 
truth  of  those  practical  principles  which  you  have 
adopted.  Principles  which,  of  late,  have  been  pre- 
sented to  my  mind  as  altogether  worthy  of  adop- 
tion. I  know  that  I  have  been  a  thoughtless  young 
man,  fond  of  company  and  pleasure.  I  know  that 
there  was  a  time  when  I  laughed  at  sober  industry, 
and  those  manly  exertions  which  elevate  individu- 
als into  positions  of  honor  and  usefulness,  as 
something  for  the  vulgar.  But  I  have  seen  the 
folly  and  weakness  of  such  views,  and  have  en- 
tered, seriously,  upon  the  business  of  life,  with  a 
eteady,  and  I  hope,  vigorous  determination  to  suc- 
ceed. You  are  aware,  sir,  I  presume,  that  I  open- 
ed an  office  for  the  practice  of  law  some  months 
ago.  Since  that  time,  I  have  devoted  myself  with 
diligence  to  the  profession  I  have  chosen." 
«  "  It  gives  me  great  pleasure,  Henry,  to  hear  you 
express  views  that  are  so  sound,  and  far  more 
pleasure  to  hear  you  declare  that  you  have  adop- 
ted them  as  rules  of  life,"  replied  Mr.  Martin  in  a 
more  encouraging  tone.  "  Still,  the  change  in 
your  course  of  life  is  of  such  recent  occurrence, 
that  you  cannot  blame  me  for  fearing  that  difficul- 


A   GAMING   ADVENTURE.  39 

ties,  unforseen  by  yourself  in  the  new  path,  you 
have  so  properly  chosen,  may  prevent  you  perse- 
vering in  it." 

"  Js  there  any  other  objection  to  me  1"  Henry 
Ware  asked,  in  a  serious  tone. 

"  None  other,  Henry,"  was  Mr.  Martin's 
prompt  reply.  "  You  are  the  son  of  one  of  my 
Oldest  and  most  esteemed  friends.  Your  father 
and  myself  grew  up  together  as  boys,  and  en- 
tered upon  business  at  the  same  time.  Thus 
far,  we  have  been  fast  friends,  and,  I  trust,  will  re- 
main so  through  life.  No  objection  can,  therefore, 
possibly  exist  in  reference  to  this  matter  but  what 
pertains  to  yourself,  personally.  If  I  can  be  satis- 
fied that  you  will  make  Bell  happy — that  you  will 
cherish  her  and  care  for  her  as  I  have  cherished 
and  cared  for  her,  I  will  say,  take  her  with  my 
whole  heart." 

"  How  am  T  to  satisfy  you  of  this,  Mr.  Martin  T* 

"  I  can  only  be  satisfied  by  such  an  assurance 
of  the  permanency  of  your  present  course  of  life, 
as  will  leave  my  mind  free  from  all  doubt  upon 
the  subject.  In  the  mean  time,  I  will  not  restrict 
you  in  your  visits  to  Bell.  A  few  weeks'  observa- 
tion and  deliberation  I  shall  take  before  I  make 
up  my  mind.  When  that  is  done,  my  decision 
will  be  final.  And  I  can  only  say,  that  it  will  be 
to  me  a  source  of  real  pleasure  if  I  can  make  it  in 
your  favor." 

"  I  will  cheerfully  await  your  decision,  Mr,  Mar- 
tin," young  Ware  said.  "And  I  thank  you  for 
the  frankness  with  which  you  have  dealt  with  me. 
If  you  do  not  find  me  worthy  to  claim  the  hand 
of  your  daughter,  reject  my  suit.  But  do  not 
judge  of  me  "by  the  past.  Let  me  be  estimated 
by  what  I  am,  not  by  what  I  was." 

"  My  mind  will  no  doubt  incline  in  your  favor," 
replied  Mr.  Martin.  "And  I  more  than  nuspect 


40  BELL  MARTIN. 

that,  at  home,  I  shall  find  many  reasons  for  en- 
couraging your  suit.  Be  that  as  it  may,  however, 
I  shall"  endeavour  to  decide  the  matter  soon,  and 
in  doing  so,  be  governed  by  a  regard  for  the  h/ippi- 
ness  of  my  child." 

The  young  man,  after  a  few  further  words, 
arose,  and  went  away.  For  nearly  an  hour  after, 
old  Mr.  Martin  remained  seated,  in  deep  thought. 

In  a  few  minutes  from  the  time  Ware  left  the 
store  of  Mr.  Martin,  he  entered  his  own  office, 
and  ascended  to  the  upper  room,  before  men- 
tioned. There  he  found,  as  he  had  expected,  his 
very  particular  friend,  Thomas  Handy,  who  was 
lounging  in  an  easy  chair,  and  filling  the  room 
with  tobacco  smoke. 

"  Halloo  !  Back  a'ready !"  was  that  individual's 
salutation  as  Ware  entered,  rising  up  with  a  quick 
movement,  and  a  look  of  interest  as  he  spoke. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  a  prompt  man,  you  know." 

"  Did  you  get  round  the  old  fellow  T' 

"  O,  yes." 

"  Indeed  !    Has  he  consented  1" 

"  No — of  course  not.  I  did  n't  expect  that. 
But  I  've  got  him  safely  enough,  or  I  'm  very  much 
mistaken?' 

"  How  did  he  take  your  proposition  7" 

"  Coldly  enough  at  first.  But  I  saw  his  weak 
side,  and  so  dropped  in  a  little  ingenious  flattery. 
Then  I  made  him  believe  that  I  was  going  to  be 
one  of  the  most  industrious,  exemplary  young 
men  in  the  whole  city — a  very  pattern  of  plodding, 
dollar  and  cent  dullness.  That  green  bag,  with 
the  documents  peeping  out  of  it  occasionally,  has 
touched  the  old  codgeVs  heart,  I  can  see  plainly 
enough." 

"  Did  you' ask  for  Bell,  outright  ?" 

"  O,  yes.  I  thought  it  best  to  come  to  the  point 
at  once." 


A   GAMING   ADVENTURE.  41 

"  What  did  he  say  ?" 

"  He  put  me  off  for  a  month  or  so,  to  give  him 
time  to  consider." 

"  A  month  or  so  !" 

"Yes,  confound  it!  I  shall  have  to  walk  a 
chalk  line  until  my  knees  grow  stiff.  If  in  that 
time  any  thing  should  go  wrong,  or  I  should,  un- 
fortunately, be  betrayed  into  any  little  indiscretion 
while  under  the  influence  of  a  bottle  of  wine  too 
much,  the  whole  jig  will  be  up." 

"  You  will  have  to  be  prudent,  Harry,"  replied 
his  friend,  gravely. 

"Indeed,  I  will.  I've  taken  almost  as  much 
trouble  now  as  the  jade  is  worth,  and  could  hardly 
be  tempted  to  act  such  a  farce  over  again  were 
the  present  enterprise  to  prove  a  failure.  To  be 
compelled  to  stick  up  my  name  as  a  miserable 
lawyer,  and  go,  regularly,  day  after  day,  to  my 
office ;  and  what  is  worse,  lug  a  green  bag  about 
the  street,  with  a  mock  business  air,  is  going  it 
a  little  too  strong  for  a  gentleman." 

"  It  is  rather  hard,  I  confess,  but  two  months 
will  soon  slip  round." 

"  Yes.  And  during  the  time  I  must  endeavor 
to  enjoy  myself  as  much  as  possible,  and  thus  rob 
it  of  a  portion  of  irksomeness." 

•     "  We  hav  n't  been  to  P 's  together  for  some 

time,"  remarked  Handy,  after  a  pause  in  the  con- 
versation. 

"  No.  It 's  too  expensive  sometimes — especially 
as  the  money  do  n't  come  quite  as  easy  as  former- 
ly," was  the  reply  of  Ware. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Harry,  that  you  and  I  ought  to 
have  wit  and  skill  enough  to  prevent  that." 

"I've  often  thought  as  much  myself.  But 
they  're  keen  hands  at  turning  a  card  there." 

"  So  are  all  these  professional  men.     The  only 
thing  is  for  us  to  be  just  as  keen  as  they  are,  and  I 
4* 


42  BELL   MARTIN. 

believe  we  can  be.  The  fact  is,  I  find  that  I  am 
gaining  skill  and  nerve  every  day.  Last  night  I 

came  away  from  T 's  worth  a  hundred  dollais 

more  than  I  was  when  I  went  to  the  rooms." 

"You  did?" 

"  Yes,  I  did.  But  I  had  to  work  for  it,  and  no 
mistake." 

"  Your  hand  is  improving." 

"  Very  much.    And  so  is  yours." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it  is."     Then,  after  a  pause — 

"  You  propose  going  to  P 's  to-night  J" 

"  Yes." 

"How  much  can  you  raise,  TomV' 

"About  two  hundred  dollars." 

"  That 's  more  than  I  can,  by  one  hundred  and 
ninety." 

"  So  low  as  thatV'  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  It 's  a  fact.  My  old  man,  you  know,  is  n't  too 
liberal  in  his  supplies." 

"  Nor  mine  either.  But  I  thought  this  office,  the 
green  bag,  and  all  that,  had  mollified  him  con- 
siderably." 

"  So  it  has.  Still,  he  makes  me  ask  him,  every 
time  I  want  a  dollar,  and  that  is  not  so  very 
pleasant,  you  know." 

"  Of  course  not,  but  no  matter — my  purse  is 
yours.  We  can  take  a  hundred  dollars  .apiece, 
and  go  to  P 's  to  night." 

"  And  come  away  without  a  hundred  cents  in 
our  pockets,  I  suppose." 

"  That  do  n't  follow,  by  any  means,  Harry. 
Rather  say  we  will  come  away  with  a  cool  thou- 
sand a-piece." 

"  Very  pleasant  to  contemplate,  but  difficult  to 
realize,"  was  Ware's  reply. 

"Though  difficult,  it  is  yet  possible  to  realize 
all  that,  and  more.  For  my  part,  my  mind  is  fully 
made  up  to  do  something  for  myself  in  this  way. 


A   GAMING    ADVENTURE.  43 

If  I  do  n't,  I  shall,  like  you,  be  driven  to  marry 
some  silly  girl,  or  else  be  forced  into  some  kind 
of  business,  than  stoop  to  which,  I  would  almost 
as  lief  drown  myself." 

"  And  you  seriously  think  that  something  may 
be  done  in  this  line1?" 

"  Certainly  1  do.  Did  n't  I  win  a  hundred  dol- 
lars last  night  ]" 

4l  So  you  have  said.  But  might  not  that  have 
been  the  result  of  accident  T' 

"  It  might  have  been — but  it  was  not.  I  had  as 
keen  a  fellow  to  deal  with  as  is  to  be  found  in  a  hun- 
dred. He  did  his  best,  but  I  was  wide  awake  all 
the  time.  Practice  makes  perfect,  you  know,  and 
I  have  been  practising  for  the  last  three  or  four 
months,  pretty  steadily." 

"  I  do  n't  know  but  that  it  would  be  well  for  me 
to  improve  myself  in  this  way,  too.     There  's  no 
telling  what  may  turn  up,  after  I  secure  Bell." 
*    "  That  is  true  enough,  Hany." 

"  Of  course,  I  do  n't  intend  keeping  this  shop 
open  a  day.  For  three  or  four  months  I  shall 
manage  to  have  forty  good  excuses  for  not  attend- 
ing to  business.  At  first,  you  know,  we  will  have 
to  travel  for  a  few  weeks;  then  I  shall  want 
to  spend  some  time  in  New  York,  and  so  on 
to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  But  the  mark  will 
have  to  be  toed  at  last.  I  shall  have  to  take  a  de- 
liberate stand,  and  make  a  plain  avowal  of  my  de- 
termination not  to  have  a  stone  laid  upon  my  back, 
and  be  crushed  down  and  kept  down,  to  the  level 
of  a  mere  workie.  When  that  comes — and  come 
it  must,  Tom — there  is  no  telling  what  two  hard- 
headed  old  fellows,  like  Bell's  father  and  mine,  may 
attempt.  But  they  '11  find  their  match,  or  I  'm 
mistaken.  They  '11  discover  that  I  'm  a  boy  that 
is  hard  to  beat.  The  first  movement  will,  no 
doubt,  be  to  cut  off  supplies.  Of  course,  I  must 


44  BELL   MARTIN. 

prepare  for  such  an  event — I  must,  if  possible  hit 
upon  some  expedient  for  keeping  up  supplies." 

"  Of  course  you  must.  And  that  which  I  propose, 
is  the  only  honorable  expedient.  And,  besides.,  you 
can  manage  it  with  the  utmost  secrecy.  You  can 

go  night  after  night  to  T 's,  or  M 's,  or 

P 's.  and  old  Martin  will  be  none  the  wiser. 

No  secrets  leak  out  of  those  places." 

"  We  will  go  to-night,  as  you  propose,  Tom," 
was  Ware's  prompt  reply. 

That  night,  at  about  nine  o'  clock,  the  young 
men  met  according  to  arrangement,  and  proceed- 
•^d  together  to  a  house  in  the  upper  part  of  Ches- 
nut  street,  which,  in  external  appearance,  bore  all 
the  indications  of  a  private  dwelling.  They  rung 
the  bellr  and  were  regularly  admitted  by  a  servant. 
First,  they  entered,  with  an  air  of  freedom  and  self- 
possession,  the  parlors  below,  which  were  brilliant- 
ly lighted,  exhibiting  a  rich  display  of  furniture, 
costly  mirrors  and  pictures,  with  frames  of  the 
richest  manufacture.  Here  were  to  be  found  all 
the  newspapers,  and  the  choicest  periodicals  of 
the  day.  A  few  individuals  were  to  be  seen,  read- 
ing, or  lounging  upon  the  sofas. 

The  two  young  men  lingered  here  but  a  few 
moments,  and  then  ascended  to  a  room  ranging 
along  the  back-buildings  of  the  house,  which  wai 
fitted  up  as  a  bar  with  great  elegance. .  Here  was 
exhibited  in  tempting  array  every  thing  that  could 
please  the  taste  of  the  epicure,  or  delight  the 
thirsty  seekers  for  wines  or  mixed  liquors ;  while 
smiling  attendants  stood  ready  to  answer  with 
promptness  any  demand.  All  this  was  free— pro- 
vided by  the  generous  munificence  (!)  of  the  rich 
proprietors  of  the  establishment. 

"  We  must  take  a  strong  punch  to  make  our 
nerves  steady,"  remarked  Handy  to  Ware,  as  the 
two  entered  the  bar-room  door. 


A   GAMING    ADVENTURE.  15 

"  Of  course,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

A  stiff  glass  of  the  compound  named  by  Handy 
was  taken  in  silence  by  the  young  men,  and  then 
they  turned  away,  and  ascending  two  or  three 
steps,  entered  the  large  room  that  fronted  the 
street,  which  was  brilliantly  illuminated.  From 
without,  the  windows,  although  presenting  the 
appearance  of  being  lightly  draperied,  gave  no 
sign  of  the  busy  life  within.  The  passer-by,  if  he 
lifted,  perchance,  his  gaze  to  the  building,  con- 
cluded, if  he  thought  of  the  matter  at  all,  that  few, 
if  any,  were  its  inmates — for  all  was  dark  and  si- 
lent as  desolation. 

In  this  room  were  arranged  many  small  tables, 
at  several  of  which  persons  were  engaged  at  play. 
Two  or  three  were  walking  backward  and  for- 
ward, evidently  absorbed  in  thought;  and  one 
was  seated  alone,  his  head  drooping  upon  his 
breast,  and  but  a  portion  of  his  features  visible. 
For  a  moment  or  two  Ware  let  his  eye  rest  upon 
the  last  mentioned  individual,  and  observed  that 
his  lips  were  separated,  and  that  his  teeth  were 
closely  shut,  and  in  a  slight  oblique  position,  as  if 
he  were  just  about  grinding  them  together.  His 
hand,  too,  was  clenched,  and  had  a  perceptible 
nervous  twitching. 

"  That  poor  devil  has  been  fleeced,  I  suppose," 
whispered  Handy,  with  a  contemptuous  smile,  and 
toss  of  the  head. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so — and  now  sits  here  making 
a  fool  of  himself,"  was  Ware's  heartless  reply. 
"  But  come,"  he  added,  "  let 's  go  to  the  upper 
room  in  the  rear  building.  This  is  too  nigh  the 
street.  I  can 't  bear  the  noise  of  the  carriages — 
nor  to  hear  the  sound  of  voices  on  the  pavement. 
It  does  'nt  seem  private  enough." 

"  My  own  feelings,"  rejoined  Handy. 

The  two  young  men  accordingly  withdrew,  and 


,46  BELL   MARTIN. 

ascended  to  the  room  which  Ware  had  indicated. 
It  was  much  longer  than  the  one  they  had  just  left, 
running  the  whole  length  of  an  extensive  back 
building.  The  floor  was  covered  with  rich  Brus- 
sels carpeting,  the  windows  were  hung  with  costly 
curtains,  and  the  walls  glittered  with  mirrors  that 
reflected  light  from  three  splendid  chandeliers. 
Here,  as  below,  were  ranges  of  tables,  some 
occupied  by  individuals  with  cards,  and  others  va- 
cant. As  Ware  and  Handy  came  in,  they  were 
approached  by  a  man  of  the  blandest  manners, 
and  the  most  polished  address.  He  supposed  the 
young  gentlemen  desired  to  amuse  themselves — 
there  were  tables  with  cards,  and  other  means  of 
passing  an  agreeable  hour.  The  young  gentle- 
men thanked  him  with  a  manner  as  polite  and 
courteous  as  his  own;  and  acting  upon  his  hint 
took  possession  of  a  table. 

"Rather  dull  work  for  two,"  this  very  consider- 
ate and  gentlemanly  personage  remarked,  with  his 
pleasant  smile,  passing  near  them  a  few  minutes 
afterwards. 

"  Rather,"  was  Handy's  response.  "Won't  you 
sit  down  with  us  3" 

"  No  objection,  if  agreeable,"  was  the  prompt 
reply,  as  he  drew  up  a  chair. 

"  Still  rather  dull  work,"  he  said,  after  a  short 
time,  leaning  back  and  throwing  an  eye  around 
the  room.  "  I  wonder  if  we  can't  find  somebody 
else  that  would  like  to  take  a  hand  ]  We  are  not 
now  evenly  balanced.  There  comes  a  man  who 
looks  as  if  he  wanted  to  be  either  winning  or  losing 
something,  not  much  odds  which.  Look  here, 
friend  !"  addressing  the  individual  to  whom  he 
had  alluded,  "  don't  you  want  to  take  a  hand  I" 

•*  No  objection,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Come  along,  then.  I  want  a  partner ;  and  one 
with  a  clear,  cool  head,  too ;  for  one  of  my  young 


A    GAMING    ADVENTURE.  47 

friends  here,  at  least,  I  know  to  be  a  sharp  hand, 
and  I  more  than  guess  that  the  other  is  not  much 
behind  him." 

The  stranger  sat  down  with  the  rest,  and  the 
four  were  soon  deeply  buried  in  the  game  at  once 
commenced.  Ten  dollars  round  was  the  stake, 
and  for  a  time  the  games  all  ran  in  favor  of  Handy 
and  Ware.  A  proposition  to  double  the  stakes 
had  just  been  made  by  Handy,  when  the  individ- 
ual whom  they  had  noticed  below,  as  sitting  apart, 
absorbed  in  some  intensely  painful  struggle  of 
miiad,  entered  the  room,  and  came  and  stood  be- 
side the  table  at  which  they  were  seated.  As  he 
did  so,  Ware  looked  up,  and  observed  that  his 
face  wore  a  fierce,  malignant,  determined  ex- 
pression. He  had  hardly  time  to  notice  this  when 
the  intruder  said — addressing  the  individual  who 
had  spoken  to  them  so  blandly,  on  their  entering 
the  room — in  low,  emphatic  tones  while  his  eye 
flashed,  and  his  face  grew  dark  with  suppressed 
anger — 

"  You  are  a  cheating  scoundrel,  sir  !  Here,  to 
your  teeth,  in  the  presence  of  these  young  gen- 
tlemen, I  brand  you  as  a  miserable,  cheating 
scoundrel !" 

The  change  that  instantly  passed  upon  the  face 
of  the  individual  addressed,  was  fearful  to  look 
upon.  The  bland,  open  countenance  became  in 
a  moment  rigid,  and  almost  black — while  his  eyes, 
before  so  mild  in  expression,  were  now  dilated, 
and  seemed  to  throw  out  corruscations  of  fiendish 
hate.  For  an  instant  only  he  paused,  and  then 
springing  to  his  feet,  he  dashed  both  fists  into 
the  face  of  the  person  who  had  insulted  him,  be- 
fore the  latter  had  time  to  defend  himself.  Quick 
as  thought,  however,  the  other  regained  his  feet, 
a  large  knife  already  gleaming  in  his  hand,  and 
made  a  headlong  plunge  toward  the  assailant. 


48  BELL   MARTIN. 

That  individual  dexterously  avoided  the  blow 
aimed  at  his  heart,  which  was  made  with  such  a 
desperate  energy,  that  its  failure  caused  the  stran- 
ger to  fall  forward  upon  one  of  the  tables.  Ere 
he  could  recover  himself,  the  other  was  upon  him, 
bearing  him  down,  while  his  hand  made  two  or 
three  quick  plunges,  striking  his  sides  as  he  did  so 
with  some  sharp  instrument,  that  glistened  each 
time  it  was  raised  in  the  light. 

Desperate  were  the  struggles  now  made  by  the 
stranger  to  throw  off  his  antagonist,  but  the  gam- 
bler held  him  down  by  bearing  his  whole  weight 
upon  him,  every  now  and  then  stabbing  him  in 
the  side,  with  a  fierce  energy,  accompanying  each 
blow  with  some  hellish  imprecation.  All  this 
passed  before  any  one  had  time  to  interfere. 
But  a  crowd  gathered  round,  one  catching  the 
hand  that  held  the  deadly  weapon,  and  another 
dragging  him  off  of  the  wounded  man,  from 
whose  side  the  blood  already  gushed  in  copious 
streams.  Instantly  upon  being  thus  released,  the 
latter  turned  and  dashed  his  knife  into  the  abdo- 
men of  the  gambler.  As  he  did  so,  his  arm  fell 
nerveless  by  his  side  and  he  sank  upon  the  floor 
a  ghastly  corpse. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A   DILEMMA. 

"  THAT  was  a  horrible  affair,  last  night,"  Handy 
said  to  Ware,  on  their  meeting  next  morning. 

"  Horrible,  indeed !  I  was  never  so  shocked  in 
my  life." 


A   DILEMMA.  49 

"  So  it  was  Mr.  P ,  then,  with  whom  we 

were  playing,  the  head  man  of  that  splendid 
establishment." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Hav  'nt  you  seen  the  newspapers  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"I  have  seen  one  or  two,  but  none  of  them 
contained  any  allusion  to  that  affair." 

"  Here  is  one,  then,  which  has  the  full  particulars. 
And  rather  too  full  to  please  me." 

%  How  so  ]" 

"Just  listen  to-this,"  drawing  a  newspaper  from 
his  pocket,  and  reading : 

"DESPERATE  RENCOUNTER  AT  P 's  SPLENDID  ESTAB- 
LISHMENT IN  CHESTNUT  STREET,  NEAR  ,  and  DEATH  OF 

ONE  OF  THE  PARTIES. — Last  night  at  about  ten  o'clock,  as 

P ,  the  principal  proprietor  of  the  gambling  rooms  in 

Chestnut  street  to  which  we  have  alluded  in  the  caption  of  this 
article,  was  engaged  at  play  with  a  couple  of  young  bloods  of 
this  city,  whose  names  are  in  our  possession,  an  individual 
came  up  and  insulted  him,  when  a  fight  ensued,  which  termi- 
nated in  the  death  of  the  latter,  who  received  several  severe 
stabs  in  the  side,  one  or  two  of  these  penetrating  his  heart 

In  return,  he  dealt  P a  fearful  wound  in  the  abdomen, 

which,  it  is  thought,  will  terminate  fatally.  We  have  not  yet 
learned  the  name  of  the  deceased.  We  understand  that  many 
young  men  of  respectable  standing  in  society  were  found  in 
this  establishment  by  those  who  rushed  in  from  the  street  as 
soon  as  the  fatal  affray  became  known.  One,  in  particular, 
was  noticed  there,  the  son  of  a  wealthy  merchant,  who  is  en- 
to  one  of  the  sweetest  maidens  in  the  city — a  rich 


_  jiress.  Poor  girl!  Though  now  the  envy  of  thousands,  if  she 
should  become  his  wife,  we  fear  that  the  time  will  come  when 
she,  in  turn,  will  envy  the  lot  of  even  the  most  lowly  and  ob- 
scure, in  whose  habitation  rests  the  sunshine  of  peace." 

"  Too  bad  !  too  bad !"  ejaculated  Henry  Ware, 
pacing  the  room  backward  and  forward  with 
hurried  steps.  "Confound  these  officious  news- 
paper editors !  What  has  our  being  there,  to  do 
with  the  murder  that  was  committed  1  Just  no- 
5 


50  BELL   MARTIN. 

thing  at  all !  But,  to  make  a  strong  paragraph 
we  must  be  lugged  in,  and  others  into  the  bargain. 
And  he  says,  moreover,  that  he  has  our  names — 
and,  I  suppose,  will  publish  them  to-morrow." 

"  If  he  does,  I  will  cut  off  his  ears." 

"  Better  cut  his  head  off  before  he  does  it.  Why, 
I  would  n't  have  it  known,  publicly,  that  I  was 
there  for  the  world." 

"You  might  at  once  bid  good-bye  to  Bell 
Martin,  and'her  father's  money,  if  that  were  to» 
happen." 

"  And  that  it  will  happen,  I  fear  there  is  little 
doubt." 

"  Why  so  1" 

"  Does  not  this  officious  scoundrel  say  that  he 
has  our  names'!" 

"Well?" 

"  Of  course,  now  that  he  has  published  that  fact, 
he  will  be  called  upon  by  the  Attorney  General 
to  give  the  names,  that  we  may  be  summoned  as 
witnesses  for  the  prosecution,  in  the  trial  that  will 

ensue,  should  P survive  his  wound,    which 

heaven  forbid!" 

"  True !  true !"  Handy  said,  with  a  troubled 
look. 

"  If  it  comes  to  that,  it  will  be  a  death-blow  to 
my  prospects.  The  fact  of  my  having  been  in  a 
gambling-house,  and  engaged  in  playing  with 

P ,  which  will  appear  from  my  own  testimony 

on  oath,  will  at  once  set  my  hopes  at  rest." 

Handy  did  not  reply  to  this  for  some  time,  but 
sat  deeply  absorbed  in  thought.  At  length  he 
said — 

"  Every  thing  looks  dark  enough  in  your  case, 
Harry,  I  must  confess.  But  I  think  there  is  one 
hope," 

"  What  is  that  1" 

"  That  you  may  be  able  to  secure  Bell's  hand 


SUSPICIONS   AWAKENED.  51 

before  the  trial  comes  on.  In  the  mean  time,  you 
must  make  fair  weather,  if  possible,  with  the  At- 
torney General,  and  get  him  to  keep  your  name 
from  transpiring  as  one  of  the  witnesses,  until  the 
last  moment." 

"  Thank  you,  Tom,  for  that  hope.  I  see  there 
is  still  light  ahead.  But  this  vagabond  editor — 
what  shall  we  do  with  him]"  Suppose  he  were 
to  publish  our  names  T' 

f   "  He  must  not  do  that.    I  will  see  him  to-day, 
and  endeavor  to  secure  his  silence." 
*"  Do  so,  if  possible.    But  what  if  old  Martin's 
eye  has  caught  this  unfortunate  paragraph  ]    His 
suspicions  will  be  almost  certainly  aroused." 

"  You  must  allay  them." 

"  How  1" 

"  Do  not  ask  me.  Surely  you  are  possessed  of 
enough  cool  impudence  for  that.  Visit  there  as 
formerly — and  with  as  frank  and  easy  an  air. 
If  the  affray  last  evening  be  introduced  before/ you 
have  time  to  allude  to  it,  converse  about  it  freely. 
Do  you  take  the  idea  ]" 

"  Perfectly — and  shall  act  it  out  fully. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SUSPICIONS   AWAKENED. 

"  BELL,  did  you  see  this  ?"  asked  Mary,  coming 
into  Bell's  chamber,  and  handing  her  the  morning 
paper,  with  her  finger  on  the  paragraph  which 
had  disturbed  young  Ware's  peace  of  mind  so 
seriously. 


52  BELL   MARTIN. 

"  Xo — what  is  it  1"  replied  the  maiden,  taking 
the  paper  and  glancing  over  the  article  pointed  to 
her. 

"That  is  a  dreadful  affair,  truly,  Mary,"  said     . 
Bell,  as  she  finished  reading  the  paragraph,  in  a 
voice  of  more  than  scarcely  ordinary  concern. 
"  I  wonder  who  the  young  man  is,  alluded  to  as 
about  to  marry  some  beautiful  heiress  1    I  hope, 
at  least  for  her  sake,  that  this  notice  may  meet  her 
eye,  and  that  she  may  have  resolution  to  cast  himw 
off  forever." 

"  Most  earnestly  do  I  hope  so,"  was  Mary's  an- 
swer, made  in  a  fervent  tone. 

"You  seem  unusually  serious  about  the  matter, 
Mary,"  Bell  now  said,  looking  up  with  an  expres- 
sion of  surprise.  "  Have  you  any  idea  to  whom  al- 
lusion is  made  1" 

Mary  hesitated  a  few  minutes  and  then  re- 
plied— 

"  I  have  my  suspicions." 

"  Then  where  do  they  rest  T' 

"  Pardon  me,  Bell.  Perhaps  it  is  the  earnest 
love  I  feel  for  you  that  makes  me  suspicious. 
But  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  you  are  the  maid- 
en alluded  to." 

"  Me,  Mary !"  ejaculated  Bell,  in  instant  and 
profound  astonishment.  "In  the  name  of  won- 
der !  what  has  put  that  into  your  head  T' 

"I  know  not  where  the  suggestion  came  from, 
Bell,"  said  Mary,  calmly  and  seriously.  *4  But  the 
instant  I  read  that  notice  the  thought  flashed 
upon  my  mind  with  startling  vividness." 

"  It  is  not  a  true  thought,  Mary." 

"  I  sincerely  hope  not.  Time,  however,  I  trust, 
will  tell  whether  it  be  true  or  false." 

"You  are  not  prepossessed  in  Henry  Ware's 
favor,  Mary.  That  accounts  for  this  suspicion." 

"I  certainly  am  not  prepossessed  in  his  favor," 


SUSPICIONS   AWAKENED.  53 

replied  Mary,  "  and  never  have  been.    You  know 
2"that  I  have  said  this  from  the  first." 
*     "But  upon  what  ground  rests  your  prejudice 
against  him  1" 

"  I  am  afraid  that  he  can  never  love  you,  Bell, 
as  you  should  be  loved,"  replied  Mary,  in  a  voice 
that  was  low,  and  trembled  with  feeling. 

"  Certain  am  I,  Mary  that,  he  loves  me  deeply, 
and  tenderly.  Why  do  you  doubt  it "!" 

"To  me  he  does  not  seem  capable  of  loving  any 
tiring  half  so  well  as  himself.  Pardon  my  freedom 
of  speech  on  a  subject  of  such  a  delicate  nature. 
As  I  have  said  before,  it  is  nothing  but  my  love 
for  you,  that  causes  me  to  speak  so  plainly." 

"  You  do  not  see  him  as  I  see  him,  Mary,  nor 
hear  the  peculiar  tones  of  his  voice  as  I  hear 
them." 

"I  know  that.  But  my  observation  of  him 
causes  me  to  doubt  his  sincerity.  I  do  not  see 
him  often,  but  when  I  do,  I  observe  him  with  the 
closest  scrutiny ;  and  that  tells  me  that  he  is  insin- 
cere— that  he  is  acting  a  part." 

"  Something  has  blinded  your  mind  in  regard 
to  him,  Mary,  so  that  you  cannot  judge  him 
fairly." 

"  I  think  not,  Bell.  Until  within  a  few  months, 
his  life  has  been  one  constant  round  of  selfish 
pleasure-taking.  He  has  kept  gay,  wild  company, 
and  been  the  gayest  and  wildest  of  all." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  Mary  1", 

"  I  have  heard  your  father  say  so." 

"  But  has  he  not  changed  1  Did  not  my  father 
say  that  likewise  1" 

"He  did." 

"  Does  not  that,  then,  satisfy  you  T' 

"  Far  from  it.  Men  change  not  thus,  so  sudden- 
ly, without  a  sufficient  motive." 

"  And  what,  think  you,  his  motive  1" 
5* 


54  BELL  MARTIN. 

"  To  gain  the  hand  of  Bell  Martin." 

"  And  if  to  gain  her  hand,"  said  the  maiden, 
while  her  cheek  deepened  its  color,  and  her  eyes 
sparkled,  "he  would  forego  all  these,  think  you 
not  that  to  keep  that  hand,  and  the  heart  that  goes 
with  it,  he  would  not  still  forego  them  ]" 

To  this  triumphant  appeal  on  the  part  of  Bell, 
Mary  made  no  reply ;  though  it  did  not  satisfy  her 
mind,  far  more  acute  in  its  perceptions  of  character 
than  the  maiden's  with  whom  she  was  conversing. 
The  reader's  knowledge  of  the  facts  in  the  case, 
will,  of  course,  approve  her  judgment.  Men  do 
not  thus  suddenly  change  a  course  of  life  in  which 
they  have  taken  delight,  without  some  strong  in- 
fluencing motive.  And  it  would  be  well  for  the 
happiness  of  many  a  fond,  confiding  girl,  if  she 
would  lay  this  axiom  up  in  her  heart. 

Let  every  young  woman  beware  of  the  suitor, 
especially  if  she  have  in  possession  or  prospect  a 
fortune,  who  suddenly  reforms  or  changes  his 
course  of  life  upon  making  advances  toward  her. 
Previous  habits,  when  the  stronger  motive  of  secu- 
ring her  hand  is  withdrawn,  will,  in  nine  cases 
oufof  ten,  return  and  become  as  strong  and  ac- 
tive as  ever.  Then  will  come  the  bitterness  which 
nothing  can  allay.  Then  will  come  neglect,  per- 
haps unkindness,  and,  it  may  be,  cruelty.  Who 
would  not  pause  and  reflect  1  Who  would  not 
hesitate,  and  ponder  well  the  chances,  before  run- 
ning such  a  risk]  A  neglected  wife! — Oh!  who 
would  be  that  heart-broken  thing?  And,  worse 
than  all,  how  often  do  early  habits  of  dissipation 
become  confirmed  1  Then  comes  severer  anguish 
than  even  springs  from  neglect  alone.  Poverty — 
wretchedness — and  the  untold  pangs  of  a  drunk- 
ard's wife  are  the  attendants  of  these  !  Again  we 
say,  let  the  maiden  know  well  the  character  of  the 
man  she  marries :  and  the  more  elevated  her  sta- 


SUSPICIONS   AWAKENED.  55 

tion  in  life,  the  more  guarded  let  her  be.  The 
greater  the  villain,  the  higher  his  aim. 

"  Did  you  see  the  account  of  that  affray  last 
night,  Henry  1"  asked  Mr.  Martin,  suddenly,  on 
the  evening  succeeding  the  event  alluded  to,  eye- 
ing the  young  man  closely  as  he  did  so. 

Henry  Ware  was  sitting  upon  the  sofa  beside 
Bell,  at  the  time  the  question  was  asked. 

"  I  did,"  was  his  prompt  reply,  turning  round 
toward  Mr.  Martin,  and  loqking  him  steadily  in 
the  face.  "  It  seems  to  have  been  rather  a  desper- 
ate affair," 

"  It  certainly  does.  I  wonder  who  the  young 
man  can  be  to  whom  allusion  is  made  in  the 
paper  of  this  morning  ]" 

"  I  really  do  not  know ;  although  I  have  my  sus- 
picions," was  the  cool  reply  of  Ware,  still  looking 
at  Mr.  Martin,  with  an  expression  of  unconcern 
upon  his  face. 

"  Upon  whom  do  they  rest,  Henry  1" 

"  I  do  n't  know  that  it  is  exactly  fair  to  mention 
such  suspicions ;  but  of  course  they  will  be  sacred 
here.  It  has  occurred  to  me  that  the  individual 

there  alluded  to  is  James  L .  You  know  that 

he  is  engaged  to  Miss  Eberly." 

"Can  it  be  possible!"  said  Mr.  Martin,  in 
surprise. 

"  Both  possible  and  probable,"  resumed  Ware. 
"I  know  that  he  has  been  in  the  habit  of  visiting 
that  establishment  for  some  time  past.  It  is  only 
a  week  since  I  remonstrated  with  him  about  it, 
and  tried  to  show  him  that  it  was  a  certain  road 
to  ruin." 

"  You  surprise  and  pain  me  very  much,  Henry. 
I  had  a  very  different  opinion  of  James  L . 

"  Few  suspect  him  of  being  wedded  to  the  vice 
of  gaming.  But  it  is,  alas!  too  true.  Of  the 
handsome  fortune  left  him  by  his  father,  I  doubt 


56  BELL   MARTIN. 

if  there  is  any  thing,  over  a  meagre  remnant, 
left." 

"  It  is  really  dreadful  to  think  about,"  said  Mrs. 
Martin,  "  What  a  sad  prospect  for  Caroline 
Eberly !" 

"This  affair,"  remarked  Ware,  cooly,  "may 
lead  to  such  an  exposure  of  him,  as  will  open  her 
eyes ;  and  for  her  sake,  I  earnestly  hope  that  it 
may  be  so." 

Thus  did  this  young  but  accomplished  villain, 
to  draw  suspicion  from  himself,  assail  the  charac- 
ter of  an  innocent  young  man.  Mr.  Martin,  on 
whose  mind  the  most  painful  doubts  had  rested 
ever  since  the  morning,  was  now  fully  satisfied  that 
his  suddenly  awakened  fears  had  done  injustice  to 
Henry  Ware.  His  manner  and  the  expression  of 
his  face  were  to  him  full  of  innocence.  He  even 
regretted  having  made  an  effort  to  obtain  the 
names  of  the  individuals  mentioned  in  the  notice 
of  the  affray,  by  going  to  the  newspaper  office, 
where  the  editor  declined  answering  his  question. 
He  was  not,  of  course,  aware  that  Thomas  Handy 
had  been  there  half  an  hour  before  him,  and  in- 
formed said  editor  that  if  he  divulged  the  names 
of  the  persons  to  whom  he  had  alluded,  he  would 
have  his  ears  cut  off,  and,  perhaps,  his  life  taken ! 


CHAPTER  VIII, 

A   TROUBLESOME   AFFAIR. 

"  GOOD  morning,  Mr.  Blackstone,"  said  Henry 
Ware,  entering  the  office  of  the  Attorney  General, 
about  three  weeks  after  the  fatal  affray.  "  So 


A   TROUBLESOME   AFFAIR.  57 

you've  got  me  down  for  that  unpleasant 
affair]" 

"  To  what  do  you  allude,  Mr.  Ware  ]"  the 
Attorney  General  asked,  gravely. 

"  To  the  affair  which  came  off  up  Chesnut  street, 
some  two  or  three  weeks  ago." 

"Do  you  refer  to  the  murder  of by  P ]" 

"  Yes.  To  that  murder,  or  manslaughter,  or 
homicide,  which  ever  you  feel  disposed  to  call  it. 
But,  as  I  was  saying,  you  have  got  me  down  for 
one  of  the  witnesses  T' 

"  Oh  yes.  Now  I  remember ;  and  a  very  impor- 
tanfrone  you  are.  You  were  present  at  the  be- 
ginning, through  the  progress,  and  at  the  termina- 
tion, of  the  affray;  and,  of  course,  your  testimony 
will  decide  the  matter.  You  were  playing  with 

P at  the  time  came  up  to  the  table  at 

which  he  was  sitting,  I  understand,  Was  that  so  1" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  was,"  Ware  replied, 
his  tone  changing  a  good  deal,  in  spite  of  a  deter- 
mined effort  not  to  let  the  deep  concern  he  felt  be- 
come too  visible. 

"  That  is  important,"  returned  Mr.  Blackstone, 
with  a  thoughtful  air.  "  I  hope,"  he  added,  in  a 
few  moments  after,  "that  you  will  keep  the  whole 
scene  fresh  in  your  memory,  so  as  to  describe  it 
accurately." 

"  But  can  you  not,  possibly,  dispense  with  my 
testimony!"  Ware  asked.  "There  were  many 
others  present,  who  can  fully  attest  all  the  facts  in 
the  case." 

"  We  have  failed  to  learn  any  of  their  names, 
except  that  of  Thomas  Handy,  who  has  been  sum- 
moned to  appear  as  well  as  yourself." 

"  Why  will  not  his  evidence  be  conclusive  in  the 
matter  1" 

"Because,  as  you  well  know,  corroborating 
testimony  is  always  desirable." 


DO  BELL   MARTIN. 

How  soon  will  the  case  come  on  1" 

"At  the  next  term,  which  commences  in  about 
two  months." 

The  young  man's  countenance  fell,  and  he 
seemed  troubled  at  this  information.  A  brief 
silence  followed,  and  then  he  said,  while  his  voice 
slightly  trembled — 

"  I  have  reasons,  Mr,  Blackstone,  of  a  very  im- 
portant nature,  for  not  wishing  to  appear  in  this 
case." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it  Mr.  Ware ;  and  regret  the 
absolute  necessity  for  calling  you." 

"  Do  not  say  absolute  necessity,  Mr.  Black- 
stone/'  Ware  rejoined,  while  his  manner  became 
agitated.  "  I  cannot,  I  must  not  appear !" 

"  What  detriment  can  it  be  to  you  simply  to  re- 
late what  you  saw?  You  were  no  actor  in  the 
case." 

"  But  I  could  not  have  seen  what  passed  in  that 
establishment,  if  I  had  not,  unfortunately,  been 
there.  It  is  the  fact  of  my  presence  there  that  I 
do  not  wish  known." 

\  "  I  am  sorry  for  the  existing  necessity,"  replied 
the  Attorney  General ; "  but  cannot  accede  to  your 
desire.  The  evidence  which  you  can  give  is  of 
too  much  importance  to  the  State  to  be  waived." 

The  manner  of  Ware  became  still  more  agita- 
ted at  this. 

"You* know  not,  Mr.  Blackstone,"  he  said,  in 
an  earnest  and  almost  supplicating  tone,  "how 
much  depends  upon  the  concealment  of  the  fact 
that  I  was  present  at  that  unfortunate  affray.  If 
it  should  become  known,  it  will  mar  all  my  ex- 
pectations in  life." 

"  I  regret  exceedingly  to  hear  you  say  so,"  the 
Attorney  General  simply  remarked  at  this;  and 
then  the  youn^  man  went  on — 

"The  fact  is,  Mr.  Blackstone,  to  make  you 


A   TROUBLESOME   AFFAIR.  59 

fully  sensible  of  my  situation,  in  the  hope  that  an 
appreciation  of  it  may  induce  you  to  consider  me 
more  than  you  are  now  inclined  to  do,  I  will  men- 
tion, that  I  have  recently  made  proposals  to  old 
Mr.  Martin,  for  the  hand  of  his  youngest  daugh- 
ter, and  that  I  am  now  awaiting  a  decision.  I 
have  no  doubt  of  its  being  in  my  favor.  But 
should  this  fact  get  out  before  the  consummation 
of  the  marriage,  the  engagement  will  inevitably 
be  broken  off.  I  was  a  fool  to  go  to  that  miser- 
able place  any  how  ;  and  should  n't  have  done  so 
had  it  not  been  for  the  persuasion  of  a  friend,  for  I 
have*no  taste  for  such  amusements." 

"  I  certainly  feel  for  your  situation  very  much," 
said  Mr.  Blackstone.  And  he  only  spoke  what  he 
felt ;  for  he  really  believed  the  concluding  portion 
of  the  young  man's  statement,  not  having  had 
much  knowledge  of  his  previous  character  and 
habits  of  life. 

"  It  is  a  very  peculiar  and  very  critical  one,  in- 
deed," was  Ware's  reply.  And  I  do  hope  you 
will,  as  it  is  in  your  power,  duly  consider  the  deli- 
cate position  in  which  I  am  placed." 

"  But  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  do  so,  Mr.  Ware." 

"How  can  that  bel  Is  it  not  upon  your  sum- 
mons that  all  witnesses  appear?" 

"  Very  true.  But  in  this  act  I  cannot  be  gov- 
erned by  any  considerations  except  those  which 
regard  justice." 

"  Still,  justice  may  be  attained  as  fully  by  my 
non-appearance,  as  by  my  appearance." 

"  I  do  not  think  so." 

"  But  surely  the  testimony  of  Mr.  Handy  will  be 
conclusive." 

"  It  may  not  be  in  the  minds  of  all  the  jurors. 
But  if  in  your  testimony  and  Handy's  there  be  a 
corroborating  agreement  on  some  important 
points,  then  doubt  will  be  set  aside.  You  see, 


60  BELL   MARTIN. 

therefore,  that  it  is  impossible  for  me,  much  as  I 
feel  for  you  in  so  unpleasant  a  position,  to  accede 
to  your  wishes.  Were  it  in  my  power,  I  would 
do  so  cheerfully ;  but,  as  I  hav7e  before  said,  it  is 
not  in  my  power.  I  cannot  let  any  personal  con- 
sideration interfere  to  endanger  the  cause  of  jus- 
tice." 

"  Do  not  say,  that  in  this  resolution  you  are 
fixed,  Mr.  Blackstone,"  returned  Ware,  appeal- 
ingly. 

"  I  certainly  do  say  so,  and  emphatically,"  was 
the  firm  reply.  "  My  office  is  a  responsible  one ; 
and  in  the  discharge  of  its  duties,  I  suffer  myself 
to  know  no  man." 

There  was  now  a  long  silence,  deeply  troubled 
on  the  part  of  the  young  man. 

"  And  you  think  the  trial  will  come  on  at  the 
next  term  ?"  he  at  length  asked  in  an  anxious  tone. 

"Oh  yes.  It  is  already  entered  for  the  next 
Court." 

Perceiving  by  the  manner  of  the  Attorney  Gene- 
ral, that  it  was  useless  to  urge  him  farther,  Henry 
Ware  retired,  with  a  feeling  of  deeper  and  more 
painful  anxiety  than  he  had  evei  experienced. 
He  had  fondly  believed  that,  under  the  peculiar 
circumstances  of  the  case,  where  there  was 
another  witness  who  could  testify  as  fully  and  as 
clearly  as  himself  to  all  the  facts  which  had  occur- 
red, there  would  be  no  great  difficulty  in  his  get- 
ting relieved  from  the  duty  of  a  witness,  but  this 
hope  the  Attorney  General  had  dashed  to  the 
ground.  And  he  now  saw  himself  standing,  as  it 
were,  on  the  brink  of  utter  ruin,  as  he  esteemed  it. 
For  if  he  failed  under  these  circumtstances,  to  se- 
cure the  hand  of  Bell  Martin,  the  fact  would  be- 
come so  notorious,  that  all  hope  of  securing  any 
other  prize  of  equal  value,  would  be  cut  off.  It 
would,  likewise,  involve  such  an  exposure,  as  to 


A   TROUBLESOME    AFFAIR.  Gl 

utterly  destroy  his  father's  newly  awakened  con- 
fidence, and  cause  him 'further  to  curtail  supplies 
of  money.  This  would  necessarily  separate  them 
so  far  as  to  make  it  very  doubtful  whether  the  old 
gentleman,  at  his  death,  would  trust  much  of  his 
property  in  the  hands  of  one  in  whose  habits  and 
principles  there  was  so  little  to  approve. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  now  1"  he  asked,  thought- 
fully, as  he  seated  himself  in  his  office.  "If  this 
comes  out  before  Bell  is  mine,  the  whoie  jig  is  up. 
And  what  then  1  Why,  the  old  man  will  be  so 
incensed,  that,  in  all  probability,  he  will  tell  me  to 
go  afid  shift  for  myself.  And  a  pretty  figure  I 
would  make  at  that  kind  of  work.  What  could  I 
do]  Gamble,  I  suppose,  and  nothing  else:  and 
not  much  headway  would  I  make  at  that,  it  strikes 
me.  But  if  1  could  only  get  fairly  spliced  to  Bell, 
I  would  have  two  strings  to  my  bow.  My  old  dad, 
and  hers  too,  would  then  think  twice  before  cut- 
ting loose  from  me.  And,  besides,  I  would  have 
two  deep  pockets  to  thrust  my  hand  in,  and  both 
together,  it  strikes  me,  ought  to  keep  me  in  spend- 
ing money.  Let  me  see  : — this  trial  will  come  on 
in  two  months.  Can 't  I  push  the  business  through 
in  that  time  1  I  must  try  :  for  every  thing  depends 
upon  it.  Certainly,  old  Martin  has  had  full  time 
to  consider,  and  decide  upon  my  offer !  And  I 
think  he  has  decided  favorably,  for  his  manner 
grows  more  and  more  encouraging  and  familiar 
every  time  I  meet  him.  I  '11  see  him  this  very  day 
and  press  for  an  answer ;  and  if  that  should  be 
favorable,  will  next  urge  an  immediate  marriage. 
It  is  my  only  course." 

Acting  upon  this  decision,  Ware  sought  and  ob- 
tained a  private  interview  with  Mr.  Martin  on  that 
afternoon. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  Mr.  Martin,"  he  said, 
after  alluding  to  the  object  of  his  visit,  "  for  my  so 
6 


62  BELL   MARTIN. 

early  asking  a  decision.  Young  folks,  you  know, 
are  restless  under  uncertainties — and,  especially, 
under  an  uncertainty  of  this  nature,  you  cannot 
\vonder  that  I  should  feel  anxious.  I  trust,  there- 
fore, that  you  have  taken  pains  to  satisfy  yourself 
as  to  my  ability  to  render  your  daughter  happy, 
and  are  now  prepared  to  give  me  a  final  answer." 

The  old  man  sat  thoughtful  for  some  moments, 
after  Ware  had  ceased  speaking.  All  that  he  had 
seen  or  heard,  since  his  proposal  for  the  hand  of 
Bell,  had  caused  him  to  think  more  and  more  fa- 
vorably of  the  young  man's  suit.  And  yet  he  did 
not  feel  satisfied.  Whenever  he  thought  of  re- 
sining  his  daughter  to  Ware,  it  was  with  feelings 
of  unconquerable  reluctance.  The  man  he  would 
choose  for  his  child,  if  the  full  choice  were  his, 
would  be  one  in  whom  correct  principles  had  been 
early  implanted,  and  had  grown  with  his  growth, 
and  strengthened  with  his  strength.  Such  was  not 
the  case  with  Ware.  With  him,  correct  principles 
were  of  but  a  hot-bed  growth ;  and,  therefore,  he 
could  feel  no  well-grounded  confidence  in  them. 
Still,  he  would  condemn  this  kind  of  judgment,  on 
the  argument  that  the  young  man  had  evidently 
seen  his  error,  and  was  now  thoroughly  reform- 
ing himself.  That,  with  maturer  years,  a  youth- 
ful love  of  exciting  pleasures  and  loose  company 
had  subsided,  never  again  to  exercise  any  control- 
ing  influence  over  him. 

"  In  one  week  I  will  give  you  a  decisive  answer, 
Henry,"  Mr.  Martin  at  length  replied. 

"  Even  a  week  seems  a  great  while  to  prolong 
this  kind  of  suspense;  Mr.  Martin.  I  have  already 
waited  with  as  much  as  I  could  exercise,  for  many 
weeks." 

"  But  there  need  be  no  hurry  about  the  matter, 
Henry.  You  are  both  young,  and  won 't  expect 
to  be  married  for  a  twelvemonth  to  come." 


LIGHT    AHEAD.  63 

This  remark  made  the  young  man's  spirits  sink 
at  once.  If  not  married  within  a  twelvemonth, 
very  certain  was  he,  that  he  should  never  be  mar- 
ried at  all  to  Bell  Martin.  But  he  would  not  trust 
himself  to  reply.  The  first  thing  was  to  gain  the 
father's  consent  to  marry  her  at  all. 

"  I  must  wait  a  week,  you  say  1"  he  remarked 
after  a  brief  silence. 

"  In  a  week  I  will  be  prepared  to  decide  upon 
your  proposition." 

"  It  will  be  a  month  to  me."  said  Ware,  as  he 
arose  to  depart. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LIGHT   AHEAD. 

"Is  it  all  settled,  Harry?" 

"  The  child  is  christened M 

"  And  named  Anthony  T' 

"  You  've  said  it.  The  old  man  could  n't  but  give 
his  consent,  though  it  came  reluctantly  ;  and  then 
the  way  he  piled  on  the  admonition  was  a  •  sin  to 
curious.'  " 

"  Good  advice,  no  doubt.    What  was  it  likeT' 

"  That 's  more  than  I  can  tell." 

"  Went  into  one  ear  and  out  of  the  other,  eh  1" 

"Not  even  that.  It  didn't  find  its  way  into 
either  ear.  I  wanted  his  daughter  and  not  his 
advice." 

"  So  far  so  good.  But  the  next  question  is, 
how  soon  will  he  consent  to  let  you  marry  her  1" 

"  Next  year !"  in  a  tone  of  bitter  irony. 

"  Never,  you  had  better  say." 


64  BELL   MARTIN. 

"  It  will  be  never,  if  not  within  a  year,  that  is 
certain." 

"  That  confounded  trial  will  be  here  in  less  than 
two  months." 

"  And  in  less  than  two  months  all  my  hopes  will 
be  scattered  before  the  wind  if  I  cannot  manage  to 
secure  Bell's  hand  within  that  period." 

"  Is  there  any  possible  hope  of  doing  so  7" 

"  I  'm  afraid  not.  But  I  must  try.  While  there 
.s  life  there  is  hope,  Tom,  as  the  doctors  say.  So 
far  I  have  managed  to  throw  dust  in  the  old  peo- 
ple's eyes,  and  get  their  consent  to  marry  Bell.  I 
must  now  do  my  best  to  accomplish  another  end, 
fully  as  important  as  the  first." 

"  How  will  you  go  about  it  7" 

"  I  have  been  racking  my  brains  over  that  for 
the  past  week,  in  anticipation  of  the  acceptance 
of  my  suit,  and  can  thus  far,  think  of  but  one 
way." 

"What  is  that  7" 

"  To  get  my  old  man  in  favour  of  an  immediate 
marriage,  and  then  set  him  to  work  on  Martin." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  bring  him  over  to  your 
side  7"  " 

"  I  can  only  try." 

"  But  are  you  sanguine  7" 

"  I  am.  He  knows  I  've  been  a  pretty  wild  boy 
in  my  time,  and  is  now  tickled  to  death  at  the  idea 
of  my  reformation.  If  I  can  only  manage  to  get 
the  notion  into  his  head  that  there  is  still  some 
danger  of  my  getting  back  into  the  gall  of  bitter- 
ness and  the  bonds  of  iniquity,  until  the  protecting 
arms  of  a  wife  are  thrown  around  me — he  is  safe 
on  my  side  of  the  question." 

"  But  how  will  you  manage  that  7  It  would 
hardly  do  for  you  to  insinuate  such  a  thing." 

"  Of  course  not.  But  I  have  a  friend  of  my  own 
kidney  who  has  often  served  me  before,  and  I  am 


LIGHT   AHEAD.  GJj 

going  to  make  a  requisition  on  him  for  this  especial 
business." 

"  Indeed  !    And  who  might  that  friend  be?" 

"  He  might  be  one  Thomas  Handy,  alias,  Tom 
Handy — a'chap  of  notable  parts — and,  moreover, 
is  the  said  Tom  Handy." 

"  Exactly." 

"  And  of  course  Tom  Handy  is  still  as  ready  t 
serve  his  friend  as  ever  1" 

"  My  hand  for  that.  But  how  am  I  to  manage 
this  for  you  ?" 

"  You  must  fall  in  with  the  old  man." 

"  He  don 't  love  me  very  tenderly,  you  must  re- 
member." 

"  I  am  fully  aware  of  that  fact.  But  I  have  been 
wearing  down  his  prejudice  for  the  past  week  with 
might  and  main." 

"  You  have  ?" 

"  O,  yes.  Whenever  I  could  manage  to  get 
something  to  say  about  Thomas  Handy,  I  lugged 
your  honourable  self  in,  head  and  shoulders." 

"  He  did  n't  like  my  company,  I  presume]" 

"It  did  disturb  him  at  first.  But  I  surprised 
him  with  the  pleasing  information  that  there  had 
occurred  in  you  a  most  salutary  change  of  late." 

"  O,  dear !  ha !  ha  !  ha  !  Hush,  Harry,  or  you 
will  kill  me !" 

"  Mainly  brought  about,  I  informed  him,  by  my 
influence  and  example.  That  you  had  been  a  wTild 
boy  in  your  time,  there  was  no  denying.  But 
having  sowed  your  wild  oats,  you  were  now  setting 
seriously  and  earnestly  about  the  business  of  life." 

"He  did  n't  believe  you?" 

"  He  did — every  word !  It  would  have  done 
your  heart  good  to  see  how  pleased  he  was.  *  You 
see,  Harry ,'"he  said,  'how much  depends  on  every 
individual.  We  do  not  stand  alone.  Every  act 
whether  good  or  evil,  carries  its  salutary  or  inju- 
6* 


66  BELL   MARTIN. 

rious  effect  into  society,  and  there  reproduces  it- 
self, often  in  innumerable  forms.  Let  this  truth, 
my  dear  son,  sink  deep  into  your  heart.  And  for 
the  sake  of  others,  if  not  for  your  own,  let  every 
act  bear  with  it  a  healthful  influence.'  Now  what 
do  you  think  of  that  7" 

"He'd  make  a  first-rate  preacher,  wouldn't 
he  7" 

"  So  I  thought." 

"  And  he  is  prepossessed  in  my  favour !" 

"  O,  decidedly.  Now  I  want  you  to  fall  in  with 
him  as  soon  as  possible,  for  no  time  is  to  be  lost, 
and  do  the  right  thing  by  me.  I  need  not  tell  you 
in  what  way.  That,  of  course,  you  understand." 

"  Perfectly." 

"  When  do  you  think  you  can  see  him  7" 

"  I  do  n't  know.  I  must  fall  in  with  him  by  ac- 
cident, of  course.  Let  me  consider.  At  what  time 
does  he  go  to  the  store  after  dinner  7" 

"About  four  o'clock." 

"  Takes  wine  pretty  freely  at  the  table  7" 

"  Yes." 

*"  And  is  always  in  a  good  humor  afterwards  7" 

"Generally  so." 

"  I  '11  meet  him,  then,  by  accident,  on  some  cor-  - 
ner  between  your  house  and  the  store,  and  walk 
down  the  street  with  him.  As  we  go  along,  I  will 
do  my  prettiest  to  interest  him  ;  so  that  when  we 
pause  at  the  store  door,  he  '11  say,  '  Come  !  won  't 
you  walk  in,  Thomas  7'  Of  course  I  will  go  in. 
How  do  you  like  that  style  of  doing  the  thing  7" 

"  Admirably !" 

"  But  is  he  alone  much  in  his  counting-room  7" 

"  Yes,  especially  in  the  afternoon.  There  is  a 
cosy  little  office  just  back  of  the  main  counting- 
room,  in  which  is  a  large  arm-chair,  that  has  gen- 
erally some  attractions  for  him  after  a  hearty 
dinner.  He  will,  in  all  probability,  invite  you  in 


LIGHT   AHEAD.  67 

there.    If  he  does,  you  will  have  a  fair  chance  at 
him." 

"  And  I  '11  do  my  prettiest." 

"  I  will  trust  you  for  that,  Tom.  You  are  true 
blue,  when  you  undertake  to  perform  a  friendly 
act." 

About  four  o'clock  on  the  next  day,  Thomas 
Handy  met  old  Mr.  Ware,  "  by  accident,"  a  short 
distance  from  his  store.  During  the  dinner  hour, 
Henry  Ware  had  artfully  introduced  his  friend  in 
conversation,  and  by  the  relation  of  some  imagin- 
ed circumstances,  and  the  repetition  of  some  im- 
agined sentiments  attributed  to  him,  very  much 
•interested  his  father  in  the  young  man.  He  was, 
in  consequence,  prepared  to  give  him  a  pleasant 
word  and  a  bland  smile,  which  Handy  appropri- 
ated very  coolly  and  very  naturally.  Then,  as  he 
was  going  the  same  way,  a  pleasant  conversation 
sprung  up,  which  was  just  at  a  point  of  interest 
when  they  arrived  at  Mr.  Ware's  store,  that  made 
him  feel  inclined  to  invite  the  young  man  to  walk 
in.  Of  course,  Thomas  Handy  made  no  excuse.  In 
a  few  moments  after,  he  was  snugly  seated  in  the 
cosy  little  office  of  which  his  friend  had  told  him, 
with  Mr.  Ware  as  snugly  fixed  in  his  great  arm- 
chair. 

"  Well,  Thomas,"  remarked  the  old  gentleman, 
after  he  had  got  fairly  settled,  looking  at  Handy 
with  quite  a  complacent,  benevolent  expression  on 
his  countenance,  "  it  must  be  as  great  a  pleasure  to 
your  father  as  it  is  to  ma,  to  know  that  you  young 
men  are  beginning  to  see  with  different  eyes,  and 
to  act  from  different  views." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  it  is,"  was  the  prompt,  cool,  heartv 
less  reply.  "  My  father  seems  like  another  man. 
But  you  can,  no  doubt,  enter  into  his  feelings  more 
fully  than  I  can." 

"  Very  truly  said.    None  but  a  father  can  pos- 


68  BELL  MARTIN. 

sibly  realize,  fully,  a  father's  feelings  under  such 
circumstances.  For  my  part,  I  can  say,  that  the 
change  which  has  become  apparent  in  Harry,  has 
taken  a  mountain  from  my  heart." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,  sir !  No  doubt  of  it !"  was 
Handy's  fervent  response.  "For  the  change  in 
Harry  has  been  great  indeed." 

"  Indeed  it  has." 

"  And  I  most  earnestly  trust  that  he  will  abide 
by  it." 

"  Abide  by  it  1  He  must  abide  by  it,  Thomas ! 
I  cannot  think  of  his  going  back  again.  It  would 
almost  kill  me.  Q,  if  he  only  knew  the  world  of 
misery  I  have  suffered  in  consequence  of  his  past 
life,  he  would  die  rather  than  think  of  returning 
to  his  previous  habits  !" 

There  was  a  tremulousness  and  a  pathos  in  the 
old  man's  voice,  that  even  reached,  in  some  de- 
gree, the  ice-bound  feelings  of  the  young  man  with 
whom  he  was  conversing.  But  the  "effect  was 
neither  deep  nor  permanent.  The  selfish  end  he 
had  in  view,  quickly  dispersed  even  these  small 
touches  of  nature. 

"The  influence  of  habits,  confirmed  by  long  in- 
dulgence, are  not  thrown  off  in  a  day,  Mr.  Ware," 
he  replied,  in  a  serious  tone.  "  Both  Henry  and 
myself  will  have  to  struggle  manfully  before  we 
have  fully  conquered.  And  struggle  we  will.  In 
this  effort  we  need  all  the  kind  consideration  and 
aid  that  we  can  receive  from  those  upon  whom 
we  have  any  claims." 

"  And  surely  you  have  both,  Thomas." 

"  We  have,  so  far  as  our  condition  can  be  ap- 
preciated. But  you,  who  have  never  felt  the 
force  of  such  habits  as  we  have  contracted,  can 
no  more  fully  sympathize  with  us,  than  we  can 
fully  sympathize  with  you.  Do  you  understand 
me  r 


LIGHT   AHEAD.  69 

"  I  do.    But  why  do  you  speak  thus  ?" 

"  I  have  been  led,  almost  involuntarily,  to  say 
what  I  have,  Mr.  Ware,  from — from — " 

"  From  what,  Thomas  1    Speak  out  plainly." 

The  young  man  hesitated  for  a  few  moments, 
as  if  deliberating  some  question  in  his  mind,  and 
then  said,  in  a  serious  tone — 

"  I  had  no  thought  of  saying  what  I  am  now  al- 
most compelled  to  say,  seeing  that  I  have  excited, 
unintentionally,  a  concern  in  your  mind.  You 
must  not,  of  course,  intimate  to  Harry,  even  re- 
motely, that  I  have  said  what  I  am  now  about 
saying." 

"  O,  no,  of  course  not,  Thomas." 

"  You  know,  then,  I  presume,  that  he  has  been 
addressing  Bell  Martin  7" 

"Yes." 

"  I  learned  from  him  yesterday  that  her  father 
had  consented  to  the  marriage." 

"  So  I  heard  last  evening." 

"  But  he  thinks  it  time  enough  for  them  to  get 
married  in  a  year  from  now." 

"Well?" 

"  Do  you  know  that  the  first  effort  Henry  made 
to  reform  his  course  of  life,  was  after  his  affections 
had  become  fixed  upon  Bell  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  it  certainly." 

"  It  is  true.  We  are  intimate  friends,  and  I  know 
it  to  be  true.  He  loves  her  fondly  and  passionately 
— and  is,  of  course,  very  much  disappointed  at  the 
stand  which  her  father  has  taken.  A  year  is  a  long 
time  to  wait." 

"It  is  a  good  while — but  it  will  soon  pass 
round." 

To  him  it  will  not.  The  hours,  and  days,  and 
weeks,  will  drag  wearily  and  heavily.  To  speak 
frankly  and  seriously,  Mr.  Ware,  I  fear  for  its 
effect  upon  him.  You  know  his  ardent  temper- 


70  BELL   MARTIN. 

ament,  and  how  little  used  he  has  been  to  self- 
denial." 

"  You  speak  seriously,  Thomas." 

"  It  is  because  I  feel  serious  in  this  matter.  I 
am  much  attached  to  Harry,  and  whatever  deeply 
concerns  him  concerns  me." 

"  In  what  way  do  you  fear  that  it  will  affect  him 
injuriously  ]" 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  can  hardly  tell  myself.  But  I 
have  a  vague  fear  that  I  cannot  shake  off— a  dim, 
troubled  idea  that  has  haunted  me  ever  since  I  saw 
his  strong  manifestation  of  disappointment.  For 
relief  of  mind,  he  may  fall  back  in  some  weak 
moment,  upon  old  and  exciting  pleasures,  and 
then  his  danger  would  be  great,  very  great.  I 
tremble  to  think  of  it." 

"  You  certainly  alarm  me,  Thomas." 

« I  do  not  wish,  Mr.  Ware,  to  disturb  your 
mind,  and  would  not  do  so,  did  I  not  feel  so  deep 
an  interest  in  your  son.  An  ounce  of  preven-  . 
tion,  you  know,  is  worth  a  pound  of  cure.  It  is 
in  the  hope  that  through  your  influence  all  dan- 
ger may  be  put  far  away,  that  I  now  speak  to  you 
as  I  do." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  Thomas.  I  feel  the  force 
of  your  generous  interest.  But  if  that  is  all,  we 
need  not^disturb  our  minds.  They  might  just  as 
well  be  married  now  as  a  year  hence." 

"  So  I  think.  There  can  be  no  reason  for 
waiting." 

"  None  at  all.  I  will  see  Mr.  Martin,  and  have 
that  matter  settled  at  once." 

"  You  have  indeed,  sir,  taken  a  load  from  my 
mind,"  said  Handy,  earnestly  and  sincerely. 
Then,  after  a  brief  pause  for  reflection,  he  added  : 

"  Urge  Mr.  Martin  to  permit  the  marriage  to 
take  place  at  a  very  early  period.  I  shall  never 
feel  that  Henry  is  perfectly  safe,  until  this  new 


IN  DIFFICULTY    AGAIN.  71 

relation   is   formed.    Then,  all   danger  will   be 


'  It  shall  take  place  soon,  I  pledge  myself  for 
that,"  replied  Mr.  Ware.  "  I  understand  Bell's 
father  as  well  as  he  understands  himself,  and  I 
know  how  to  take  him.  Trust  me,  sir ;  they  shall 
be  married  as  early  as  they  wish." 

Thus  much  gained,  Handy  soon  after  arose,  and 
bade  Mr.  Ware  good  day. 


CHAPTER  X. 

IN  DIFFICULTY    AGAIN. 

ONE  morning,  a  week  after  the  interview  men- 
tioned in  the  concluding  portion  of  the  last  chap- 
ter, our  two  young  men  met,  as  usual,  at  the  office 
cf  Henry  Ware,  which  was  still  retained,  and  all 
the  appearances  of  studious  attention  to  business 
kept  up. 

"  You  look  grave,  Harry,"  remarked  his  friend, 
as  he  came  in. 

"  I  look  no  graver  than  I  feel,"  was  the  gloomy 
response. 

"  What  has  turned  up  now  1  Are  we  never  to 
be  done  with  these  cross  purposes  1" 

"  I  'm  afraid  not.  It  seems  as  if  the  old  Harry 
himself  had  turned  against  us.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  that  cursed  affair  in  Chestnut  street,  all  would 
have  gone  on  swimmingly.  But  that,  I  see  very 
plainly,  is  going  to  mar  the  whole  plot." 

"  Old  Martin  has  given  his  consent  to  an  early 
marriage." 

"  So  he  has.    But—" 


72  BELL  MARTIN. 

"But  what  1" 

"  Bell,  confound  her !  can 't  get  ready  for  two 
months  to  come !" 

"  The  devil !" 

"  Ain  't  it  too  bad !"  And  Ware  paced  the  floor 
of  his  office  with  hurried  steps,  his  countenance 
expressive  of  anger  and  disappointment.  "  Can't 
get  ready  for  two  months !  Confound  it !  Why,  I 
could  get  ready  in  two  days,  and  so  could  she,  if 
it  were  not  for  some  romantic  notion  she  has  prob- 
ably got  into  her  head.  They  're  all  a  set  of  silly 
fools  any  how !" 

"  You'll  soon  take  the  romance  out  of  her,  if 
you  ever  get  a  chance  !" 

"Won't  I?  She'll  not  have  much  left,  six 
months  after  we  're  married,  if  that  event  ever 
takes  place." 

"  Not  for  two  months,  you  say  1" 

«  No." 

"  Too  bad !  Too  bad  !  But  can 't  you  change 
her  resolution!" 

"  No.  I  tried  last  evening,  as  far  as  I  could.  But 
it  was  no  use.  She  says  that  she  cannot  possibly 
be  ready  before  the  middle  of  May." 

"  That  trial  will  come  up  on  the  first." 

"  So  Blackstone  says." 

"  What  then  is  to  be  done  1" 

"  That  is  a  question  easy  to  ask,  but  difficult  to 
answer.  I  see  no  chance  of  escape  from  the 
dilemma." 

"  I  can  tell  you  of  one  way  that  occurs  to  me  at 
this  moment." 

"  Name  it,  then,  for  Heaven's  sake !" 

"  Absent  yourself  from  the  city  on  the  day  the 
case  is  called.  It  will  then  have  to  go  on  without 
you,  or  be  postponed,  so  that  you  will  have  time 
to  get  married  before  it  again  comes  up." 

"  The  very  thing !"  ejaculated  Ware,  striking 


'iN  DIFFICULTY   AGAIN.  73 

his  fist  with  his  open  hand,  his  whole  countenance 
brightening  up.  "It's  the  very  thing,  Tom!  And 
I  'if  do  it." 

"There  will  then  only  remain  one  danger." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Your  name  will  be  called  as  a  witness.  Should 
any  one  there,  who  knows  Bell's  father,  inform 
him  of  the  fact,  the  jig  will  be  up  for  you  as  effec- 
tually as  if  you  had  made  your  appearance." 

"  True — true,"  and  the  countenance  of  Ware 
again  fell. 

"  And  the  danger  would  be  greatly  increased, 
were  the  names  of  the  witnesses  published,  which 
will  in  all  probability  be  the  case." 

"  Still  it  is  the  only  course  that  promises  any 
thing." 

"  It  is ;  and  therefore  the  only  course  you  can 
take."  • 

"  Do  you  intend  remaining,  Tom  V 

"  I  havn  't  made  up  my  mind  yet." 

"  You  had  better  go  also." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  1" 

"  As  we  are  the  two  principal  witnesses  on  the 
part  of  the  prosecution,  our  absence  will  make  it 
absolutely  necessary  to  postpone  the  trial  to 
another  term.  If  that  can  be  done,  I  am  safe." 

"  That  is  true  again.    I  will  go." 

''Now  I  begin  to  see  a  little  daylight  ahead," 
remarked  Ware  in  a  more  cheerful  tone.  "  We  '11 
outwit  Mr.  Attorney  General  in  spite  of  his  teeth." 

"  Mr.  Ware,  I  believe."  said  an  individual,  enter- 
ing at  the  moment. 

"  My  name,"  was  the  half  haughty  reply,  for  the 
individual  who  addressed  him,  had  not,  to  his  eye, 
the  appearance  of  a  gentleman. 

"You  are  required  to  appear  and  give  bail  to 
the  amount  of  four  thousand  dollars  as  a  witness 

in  the  case  of  the  State  vs.  P ,"  was  the  mo- 

7 


74  BELL   MARTIN. 

notonous  response  of  the  visiter,  who  added  In 
a  moment  afterwards,  "  The  bail  is  required  by 
twelve  o'clock  this  morning,'' — and  then  with- 
drew. 

Neither  of  the  young  men  spoke  for  nearly  five 
minutes  after  the  officer  retired.  At  length  Ware 
said,  in  a  low  but  firm  tone  : 

"  It 's  all  over,  Tom !  The  fates  are  against  me. 
I  might  as  well  give  up  at  once.  But  it  is  hard, 
devilish  hard !  after  all  the  trouble  I  have  taken, 
thus  to  have  the  cup  dashed  to  the  earth,  at  the 
moment  it  is  about  to  touch  my  lips !" 

"  It  is  hard,  Harry.  But  you  must  bear  it  like 
a  man.  Something  yet  may  turn  up  in  your  fa- 
vor." 

"  I  have  ceased  to  look  for  it.  The  effort  to  get 
bail  will,  no  doubt,  lead  to  a  full  exposure  of  the 
whole  matter."  • 

"  Things  look  cloudy  enough,"  remarked  Harry, 
after  musing  for  some  time.  "  I  do  not  see  any 
way  of  escape." 

"There  is  none,  I  presume,"  Ware  gloomily 
replied.  "  Any  how,  I  shall  prepare  myself  for  the 
worst." 


CHAPTER  XL 

A   FURTHER  PROSPECT. 

IT  was  just  eleven  o  clock  when  Henry  Ware 
received  the  notice  requiring  him  to  give  bail,  as 
mentioned  in  the  last  chapter,  and  at  twelve  that 
day  bail  had  to  be  produced.  The  unexpected 


A  FURTHER  PROSPECT.  75 

aspect  which  this  difficulty,  already  well  nigh  in- 
surmountable, had  assumed,  made  the  young  man 
feel  like  giving  up  all  further  efforts  at  compassing 

a  concealment  of  his  visit  to  P 's  establishment. 

After  a  long  silence,  in  which  his  own  mind,  and 
that  of  his  friend,  were  searching,  but  in  vain,  for 
some  new  expedient,  Handy  asked,  in  rather  a 
desponding  tone, 

"  Can  you  think  of  nothing,  Harry]" 

"  Nothing,"  was  the  brjef,  gloomy  response. 

"  Who  will  go  your  bail  T' 

"  Can 't  you  ]" 

"  Of  course  I  would  not  be  received,  in  conse- 
quence of  being  a  witness  myself.  Nor  am  I  at  all 
sure  that  a  similar  notice  to  yours  will  not  be 
served  on  me  before  the  next  hour." 

« I  see  the  difficulty." 

"  But  you  must  have  bail." 

"I  know  that  too  well.  And  yet,  I  can  think  of 
no  one  except  the  old  man.  But  it  will  never  do 
to  make  application  in  that  quarter." 

"  Can 't  you  humbug  him  into  it  in  some  way  1" 

"  How  1" 

"  I  don 't  know  exactly  how.  But  still,  may  it 
not  be  done  1  Can 't  you  invent  a  plausible  story 
that  will  mislead  him  in  regard  to  the  real  facts  in 
the  case,  and  so  get  him  to  stand  by  you  1" 

"  That  Alight  be  done,  though  I  do  not  exactly 
see  how." 

"  Has  he  given  any  attention  to  the  case  T' 

"  Not  much,  I  believe.  When  the  affair  occurred, 
•  it  was  a  kind  of  three  days'  wonder  with  him,  as 
with  others.  Since  then,  I  presume,  he  has  scarce- 
ly thought  of  it." 

"  Suppose,  then,  you  trump  up  some  story  about 

your  knowledge  of  an  old  quarrel  between  P 

and ,  and  that  you  have  been  summoned  to 

testify  in  regard  to  that  1  Don 't  you  think  that 


76  BELL   MARTIN. 

you  might  come  it  over  him  in  some  such  style  as 
that  3" 

"  That 's  it  again !"  ejaculated  Ware,  starting  to 
his  feet,  and  beginning  to  walk  about  his  office 
with  a  quick  step,  while  the  dark  shadow  that  had 
rested  upon  his  face,  was  quickly  dispersed  by  an 
exulting  smile.  "  You  are  certainly  rare  at  inven- 
tions. But  for  you,  I  never  could  have  got  along 
even  half  so  far  as  I  now  am,  in  this  most  per- 
plexing Affair." 

"  You  think  it  can  be  done  without  difficulty  7" 

"  O  yes.  He  '11  believe  any  well  told  tale  just 
now.  Still,  I  dread  to  approach  him  on  the  sub- 
ject, for  fear  that  something  in  my  countenance 
or  tone  of  voice  may  betray  me.  There  is  so 
much  at  stake,  and  I  feel  so  deeply  on  the  subject, 
that  I  am  beginning  to  lose  the  calm  assurance 
that  has  thus  far  stood  me  such  good  service." 

"  How  would  it  do  for  me  to  go  to  him  T' 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not  know.  He  would  very 
naturally  wish  to  know  why  I  did  not  see  him 
myself." 

"  Of  course  he  would.  But  I  can  manage  him 
well  enough  in  regard  to  that.  The  last  interview 
I  had  with  the  old  codger  gave  me  a  clue  to  his 
character.  I  read  him  like  a  book,  then,  and  know 
him  now  from  A.  to  Z." 

"  If  you  are  perfectly  willing  to  go,  Tom,  I  shall 
be  glad  enough  to  have  you  do  so,  and  am  satis- 
fied to  trust  the  matter  to  your  sound  judgment. 
But  time  presses.  I  must  be  at  the  Court  House 
in  less  than  an  hour,  or  there  will  be  the  devil  to  ' 
pay." 

Ten  minutes  after,  young  Handy  entered  the 
store  of  Mr.  Ware,  with  a  manner  perfectly  calm 
and  assured,  while  there  sat  upon  his  countenance 
an  expression  of  concern,  not  deep,  but  clearly 
defined,  and  not  to  be  mistaken. 


A   FURTHER  PROSPECT.  77 

"  Ah,  good  morning,  Thomas — I  am  pleased  to 
see  you,"  said  Mr.  Ware,  encouragingly.  "  Walk 
back  into  the  counting-room." 

Handy  followed  the  old  gentleman  into  his 
Counting-room,  the  door  of  which  Mr.  Ware  closed 
after  him,  purposely,  in  order  that  their  conversa- 
tion might  be  private.  The  coming  in  of  Handy 
made  him  think  of  his  son,  and  he  felt  desirous  of 
conversing  more  in  regard  to  him,  with  one  who 
was  on  such  intimate  terms  with,  and  seemed  to 
iake  so  deep  an  interest  in  him. 

"  Well,  Thomas,"  he  said,  in  a  cheerful  tone, 
after  they  were  seated,  "  what  news  is  stirring  in 
your  way  V' 

"  Nothing  of  consequence,  except" and  then 

he  hesitated  and  looked  a  little  grave. 

"  Except  what,  Thomas  ?"  asked  Mr.  Ware,  ex- 
hibiting some  little  concern  of  manner. 

"To  be  plain,  honest  and  frank  with  you  at 
once,  Mr.  Ware,  a  course  that  I  always  like  to 
pursue,  I  have  come  in  this  morning  to  see  you 
about  an  annoying  circumstance  that  has  occur- 
red to  Henry." 

"  To  Henry  T'  said  the  old  man,  with  anxiety. 
"  What  of  him,  Thomas?" 

"  Oh  !  it 's  nothing  at  which  to  be  alarmed. 
In  fact,  it  is  nothing  but  a  little  matter  of  annoy- 
ance to  him." 

"  Speak  out  plainly  and  to  the  point,  my  young 
friend,"  Mr.  Ware  now  said,  in  a  firm,  decided 
tone. 

"  It  is,  in  fact,"  resumed  Handy,  "  only  one  of 
the  results  of  former  imprudent  associations.  Our 
sins  often  visit  us  with  penalties,  after  our  earnest 
repentance,  and  repudiation  of  them." 

"  Speak  plainly,  Mr.  Handy." 

"  I  will,  sir.  It  is  now  nearly  a  year  since  Hen- 
ry and  myself  were  induced,  among  other  indis- 


78  BELL   MARTIN. 

cretions,  to  visit  P 's  gambling  rooms,  and  en- 
gage in  play.  Three  months'  experience,  howev- 
er, completely  cured  us  of  our  folly.  During  that 
time  both  Henry  and  myself  became  acquainted 

with  P ,  and  also  with  several  regular  visiters 

at  his  establishment.  Among  these,  was  an  ill- 
conditioned,  quarrelsome  individual.  One  night 

a  dispute  arose  between  him  and  P ,  when  a 

brief  rencontre  ensued,  in  which  he  was  severely 
beaten.  Henry  and  myself  were  both  present, 
and  saw  the  whole  affair.  Ever  since  that  time, 
it  appears,  that  this  individual  held  a  grudge 
against  P ,  and  has,  I  am  told,  frequently  in- 
sulted him  with  the  intention  of  drawing  him  into 
another  fight.  A  few  weeks  ago,  as  you  will 
remember,  he  quarrelled  with  P ,  and  was  kill- 
ed. Now,  some  one  has  informed  Blackstone, 
the  Attorney  General,  that  we  we're  present  at 
the  former  affray,  and  he  has  summoned  us  both 
to  appear  as  witnesses  in  the  case.  But  what  he 
wants  us  to  prove,  is  more  than  I  can  figure 
out." 

"  Is  that  all  V1  said  Mr.  Ware,  breathing  more 
freely. 

"  That  is  the  whole  merit  of  the  case — but  it  is 
not  all  that  troubles  Henry's  mind." 

"  What  does  trouble  his  mind?" 

"  The  fact  that  he  has  been  required  to  give  bail 
for  his  attendance  as  a  witness." 

"  Why  has  that  course  been  pursued  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Ware,  gravely. 

"I  must  explain  a  little  to  make  that  matter 
clear  to  you.  When  Henry  first  learned  that  the 
Court  required  his  attendance,  he  went  to  the 
State's  Attorney,  in  the  hope  that  he  could  induce 
him  to  Ieav7e  his  name  off,  stating  to  him,  frankly, 
that  his  presence  in  such  a  place  was  at  a  time 
when  he  had  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away  into 


A   FURTHER   PROSPECT.  79 

irregular  habits,  by  injudicious  association,  and 
that  he  had  very  particular  reasons  for  wishing 
this  fact  not  to  see  the  light,  as  he  feared  that  it 
would  now  lead  to  a  false  judgment  in  regard  to 
him  in  quarters  where  it  was  of  the  utmost  mo- 
ment that  he  should  be  thought  of  favorably.  But 
Mr.  Blackstone  could  not  be  induced  to  waive  his 
evidence.  At  a  subsequent  interview,  when  he 
had  fixed  in  his  own  mind  about  the  first  of  May 
as  the  da)'  of  his  marriage,  he  mentioned  to  Mr. 
Blackstone  that  he  expected  to  be  unavoidably 
absent  from  the  city,  at  the  time  the  case  would 
be  called.  To  prevent  this,  he  has  been  required 
to  furnish  bail." 

"  Why  did  he  not  himself  mention  this  to  me, 
Thomas  1"  asked  Mr.  Ware. 

"  I  urged  him  very  much  to  do  so,"  was  the  cool 
reply.  "  But  he  said  that  he  was  so  much  troubled 
and  mortified  in  regard  to  it,  that  he  felt  sure, 
that,  in  making  it  known  to  you,  he  would  be  lia- 
ble to  misapprehension,  and  be  judged  more  se- 
verely than  he  deserved.  I  dp  really  feel  sorry 
for  him — he  takes  the  whole  thing  so  hard.  And 
it  does  seem  hard  when  a  young  man  is  trying 
his  best  to  do  right,  that  the  consequences  of  old 
indiscretions  should  visit  him,  and  threaten  dis- 
grace and  injury." 

"  What  amount  of  bail  is  required  ?"  asked  the 
old  gentleman,  in  a  thoughtful  tone,  after  Handy 
had  ceased  speaking. 

"  Four  thousand  dollars." 

"  Four  thousand  dollars  !" 

«  Yes — a  most  exorbitant  bail.  And  it  is  the 
fact  of  such  a  large  security  having  been  requir- 
ed, that  troubles  Henry  so  much,  though  I  tell  him 
that  it  does  not  reflect  upon  him,  but  upon  the 
party  who  stands  the  prosecution." 

"  Certainly  it  does  not  reflect  upon  him.   It  only 


80  BELL   MARTIN. 

shows  that  his  evidence  is  considered  of  great  im- 
portance, and  that  a  strong  barrier  is  to  be  put  in 
the  way  of  his  absenting  himself  at  the  time  of  the 
trial.  Of  course  I  must  go  his  bail,  and  it  might 
as  well  be  done  at  once.  Will  you  go  with  me  to 
the  Court-room  ]" 

"  O,  certainly,  sir  !  Certainly !"  was  Handy 's 
ready  and  pleased  response,  as  he  rose  from  his 
chair.  In  a  few  moments  after,  he  left  the  store, 
and,  in  company  with  old  Mr.  Ware,  took  his  way 
to  the  State  House. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


OFFICIAL   INTEGRITY. 

"  I  HAVE  passed  safely  another  dangerous  strait, 
with  rocks  and  reefs  on  every  side,"  said  Ware  to 
his  friend,  the  next  day,  as  they  sat  conferring  in 
regard  to  some  future  course  of  action.  "  With  such 
a  pilot  as  your  very  excellent  self  at  the  helm,  I 
begin  to  feel  as  if  I  shall  yet  gain  the  desired 
haven." 

"  The  devil  is  good  to  his  own,  you  know,  Har- 
ry. We  must  put  our  trust  in  him,  and  I  doubt 
not  but  that  he  will  be  true  to  the  end." 

"  So  I  begin  to  feel.  Still,  doubt  and  uncertain- 
ty hang  darkly  over  the  future." 

"  So  did  it  yesterday,  in  regard  to  bail.  Yet, 
when  the  effort  was  once  made,  how  the  difficulty 
vanished,  like  smoke !" 

"  But  the  Attorney  General  is  not  to  be  hum- 
bugged quite  so  easily  as  my  old  man.  I  'm  sadly 
afraid  that  nothing  can  be  made  out  of  him— that 


OFFICIAL   INTEGRITY.  81 

he  will  go  oh  his  own  course,  steadily,  in  spite  of 
all  we  may  do  or  say." 

"  That  is  to  be  feared.  Still,  past  success  is  to 
me  an  earnest  that  we  shall  overcome  every  diffi- 
culty." 

With  this  feeling,  our  young  men  saw  day  after 
day  go  by,  and  week  after  week,  until  the  thirtieth 
day  of  April  came,  and  yet  no  change  had  occur- 
red in  the  aspect  of  a  single  dark  feature  of 
Ware's  prospects.  On  the  first  of  May  opened  a 
term  of  the  Criminal  Court,  when,  in  all  probabil- 
ity, the  case  of  the  State  vs.  P would  be  call- 
ed. It  was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  that 
Ware,  with  an  anxious  and  troubled  countenance, 
called  at  the  residence  of  Mr.  Blackstone,  and 
asked  an  interview,  which  was  accorded  to  him. 

"I  have  come,  Mr.  Blackstone,"  he  said,  .with  a 
good  deal  of  embarrassment  in  his  manner,  yet  in 
a  tone  of  earnestness,  arising  almost  to  entreaty, 
"  to  see  if  I  cannot,  in  some  way,  prevail  on  you 
to  pass  me  over  in  your  call  for  witnesses  in  the 
case  of  which  I  have  before  spoken  to  you." 

"It  is  impossible,  Mr.  Ware.  You  cannot  be 
set  aside,"  was  the  firm  reply  of  the  Attorney 
General.  "  Your  evidence  is  of  the  first  impor- 
tance." 

"  But  Mr.  Handy  will  prove  every  thing  that  I 
can.  He  saw  the  whole  affair." 

"  I  have  before  explained  to  you,  Mr.  Ware," 
said  the  Attorney  General,  "  precisely  my  view  of 
the  importance  of  your  evidence,  and  also  my  view 
in  regard  to  my  own  position  as  prosecuting  At- 
torney for  the  State.  Since  then,  I  have  seen  no 
reason  for  changing  my  opinion,  and  must,  there- 
fore, adhere  to  my  original  design  of  calling  you 
upon  the  stand." 

To  this,  Ware  did  not  reply  for  some  moments, 
when  he  said  with  bitterness — 


82  BELL  MARTIN. 

"  From  the  moment  I  appear  upon  that  stand, 
Mr.  Blackstone,  I  may  date  the  utter  ruin  of  my 
hopes:  for  it  will  throw  over  my  character  a  shade 
of  suspicion,  which  no  explanations,  if,  indeed,  I 
shall  be  allowed  the  privilege  of  making  any,  can 
remove.  The  twentieth  of  this  month  is  the  day 
fixed  for  my  marriage  with  Bell  Martin,  and  if 
this  thing  transpires  before  that  day,  her  father 
will,  I  am  fully  persuaded,  come  forward  with  a 
positive  interdiction." 

"On  the  twentieth  did  you  say?"  asked  the 
Attorney. 

"  Yes,  on  the  twentieth." 

Then  there  was  a  long  pause,  which  was  at 
length  broken  by  Mr.  Blackstone,  who  said — 

"  Come  and  see  me  to-morrow  evening,  Mr. 
Ware.  In  the  mean  time,  I  will  give  this  matter 
all  the  thought  I  possibly  can." 

With  this  assurance,  the  young  man  withdrew. 

"  Here  is  a  matter  in  which  I  feel  somewhat  at 
a  loss  how  to  act,"  mused  the  attorney,  after  he 
was  alone.  "If  the  marriage  of  this  young  man  is 
to  take  place  as  early  as  the  twentieth,  I  can  easily 
keep  the  case  back  until  that  affair  is  all  settled  to 
his  satisfaction.  But  will  it  be  right  for  me  to  do 
sol  That  is  the  question.  May  not  justice  to  all 
parties,  and  more  especially  to  Miss  Martin  and 
her  family,  require  that  this  trial  should  be  per- 
mitted to  come  on  in  the  natural  order  of  things'? 
If  it  make  any  developments  in  regard  to  young 
Ware  that  are  discreditable  to  him,  it  is  far  better 
that  they  should  know  it  before  his  marriage  than 
afterwards.  And,  more  than  that,  it  is,  to  my  mind, 
very  questionable,  indeed,  whether  I  have  any 
right,  from  private  or  individual  considerations,  to 
interfere,  even  in  the  slightest  degree,  with  the 
regular  and  orderly  progress  and  succession  of 
public  business.  Certainly  such  an  act  would  be 


OFFICIAL  INTEGRITY.  83 

of  very  doubtful  character,  and  I  cannot  think  that 
I  would  be  right  in  deviating  from  my  official  du- 
ties from  a  regard  to  any  individual's  feelings, 
prospects  or  interests." 

Such  were  the  views  which  a  good  deal  of  re- 
flection had  measurably  confirmed  in  the  mind  of 
Mr.  Blackstone,  when  Henry  Ware  called  in  to 
see  him  on  the  next  evening. 

"  Has  any  way  occurred  to  you,  in  which  it  will 
be  in  your  power  to  screen  me  in  the  coming  trial]" 
asked  the  young  man,  with  a  look  and  a  tone  of 
concern,  as  soon  as  he  was  seated. 

"  But  one  way  has  occurred.  Yet  I  do  not  feel 
at  liberty  to  adopt  it,"  replied  Mr.  Blackstone. 

"  Why  not  1" 

"  Because  it  would  be  a  private  interference 
with  the  orderly  course  of  public  business.  And 
that,  it  seems  to  me,  no  Judicial  functionary  has  a 
right  to  make." 

"  To  what  do  you  allude  1" 

"  As  your  marriage  is  to  take  place  on  the 
twentieth,  it  would  be  a  very  easy  matter  to  let 
other  cases  (which  come  after  this  one  on  the 
docket)  precede  it,  so  that  you  need  not  make 
your  appearance  here  until  after  that  date." 

"  The  very  thing  that  I  intended  suggesting  to 
you  this  evening.  Surely,  that  can  be  done  with- 
out compromising,  in  any  sense,  either  justice  or 
principle." 

"  Not  as  I  view  the  subject." 

"  How  so  1" 

"  I  do  not  know,  Mr.  Ware,  that  you  will  ap- 
preciate my  views,  especially  at  this  time.  How- 
ever, I  will  give  them.  As  a  public  officer,  I  ought 
not  to  regard  any  man's  private  relations  in  socie- 
ty, so  much  as  to  make  them  supersede  or  stay  the 
regular  operations  of  justice.  Yours  is  a  case  in 
point.  You  wish  me  to  put  off  a  certain  trial,  in 


84  BELL   MARTIN. 

which  you  are  to  appear  as  witness,  beyond  a 
specified  date,  in  order  that  the  disgrace,  or  what- 
ever you  may  call  it,  which  will  result  from  your 
so  appearing,  may  not  have  the  effect  of  prevent- 
ing your  marriage  with  an  heiress.  Now,  it  is 
clear  to  my  mind,  that  with  your  private  affairs 
I  have  nothing  to  do.  My  business  is  to  prosecute 
offences  against  the  State,  according  to  the  legal 
forms." 

"  But  my  dear  sir,"  broke  in  Ware,  "  what 
possible  detriment  can  the  State  suffer,  by  the 
postponement  of  a  prosecution  for  a  few  days'? 
Are  not  postponements  affairs  of  constant  occur- 
rence T' 

"True.  But  they  are  all  governed  by  legal 
considerations.  As  for  instance,  the  alleged  ab- 
sence of  an  important  witness,  or  other  inabilities 
on  the  part  of  either  the  prosecution  or  defence, 
to  meet  the  questions  at  issue.  But  your  case  is 
one  that  has  relation  to  private  matters,  and  those 
alone,  and  cannot  be  admitted  as  a  reason  for 
postponement." 

"I  cannot,  Mr.  Blackstone,  appreciate  the  dis- 
tinction you  make." 

"  I  did  not  suppose  that  you  could,  Mr.  Ware, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  it  has  reference  to  a 
matter  which  deeply  concerns  you,  personally.  As 
regards  myself,  I  stand  on  different  ground,  and 
can  look  at  the  subject  in  a  very  different  aspect. 
I  view  it  abstracted  from  all  personal  interest,  as 
a  matter  of  simple  right." 

"  Surely  you  cannot  call  it  right,  to  blast,  with- 
out provocation,  without  any  adequate  reason  for 
doing  so,  the  prospects  of  a  man  who  never  injur- 
ed you." 

"  Mr.  Ware,"  said  the  attorney,  in  a  firm  and 
decided  tone,  while  he  looked  him  steadily  and 
somewhat  sternly  in  the  face,  "  when  I  accepted 


OFFICIAL   INTEGRITY.  85 

my  present  office,  it  was  with  the  solemn  determi- 
nation to  know  no  man,  personally,  while  engaged 
in  the  discharge  of  its  duties.  Were  you  my 
brother,  sir,  I  would  act  as  I  am  now  doing.  And, 
let  me  say  to  you,  that  the  more  I  reflect  upon  this 
matter,  the  more  deep  is  my  conviction  that  I  ought 
not  to  deviate  from  the  course  I  have  declared,  in 
this  case  above  all  that  have  ever  come  under  my 
notice.  If  you  were  in  improper  company,  that 
was,  I  presume,  the  result  of  loose  habits  and  a 
love  for  improper  associates.  In  the  course  of 
events,  this  fact  has  come  out,  or  is  about  to  come 
out,  just  as  you  are  preparing  to  marry  a  young 
and  innocent  maiden.  Its  ^pposure,  you  fear,  will 
cause  a  dissolution  of  your  engagement.  If  I 
understand  you  right,  you  are  deceiving  both  the 
maiden  and  her  parents  in  regard  to  your  real 
character,  which,  if  known,  would  cause  them  to 
reject  you  at  once.  And  shall  I,  as  a  lover  of 
justice,  as  a  good  citizen,  as  a  father,  screen  you  in 
my  official  capacity  1  No,  sir  !  I  would  resign 
my  office  before  I  would  betray  the  sacred  trust 
placed  in  my  hands  !" 

"  You  do  me  injustice,"  urged  the  young  man. 
"  I  am  not  in  association  with  gamblers,  as  you 
infer.  In  a  thoughtless  moment,  I  was  induced, 

by  a  friend,  to  go  into  P 's  rooms,  and  while 

there,  consent  to  play  a  game  or  two  with  my 
friend  and  a  stranger,  which  stranger  proved  to  be 

P himself.  Fifteen  minutes  only  had  elapsed 

before  the  quarrel  took  place.  Thus,  you  see,  that 
an  undeserved  odium  will  attach  to  my  name 
from  this  one  indiscreet  act." 

"  You  must  take  the  consequences  of  your  own 
conduct,  Mr.  Ware.  If  your  statement  can  be 
substantiated  to  Miss  Martin's  friends,  no  difficul* 
ty,  I  presume,  will  occur." 


00  BELL   MARTIN. 

"You  will  not,  then,  stay  proceedings  in  the 
case  1" 

"  No,  sir ;  not  a  day." 

"  When  do  you  think  it  will  be  reached  1" 

"  In  two  or  three  days,  at  the  farthest." 

With  this  decisive  information,  Ware  arose, 
and  bowing  to  Mr.  Blackstone,  in  silence,  with- 
drew. 

The  next  morning  brought  the  two  young  men 
together,  whose  sayings  and  doings  have  occu- 
pied, thus  far,  so  much  of  the  reader's  attention. 

"  Did  you  see  Blackstone,  last  evening  ?"  asked 
Handy,  as  they  met. 

"  Yes,  and  had  my  fcbor  for  my  pains." 

"  Would  n't  he  put  off  the  trial  7" 

"  No — not  a  day." 

"  Was  he  positive  7" 

"  Yes.  He  said  that  he  would  n't  put  it  off  if 
his  own  brother  stood  in  my  place." 

"  Of  course  not !  But  who  believes  him  1 
Not  I." 

"  It  seems  as  if  the  very  fates  were  against  me," 
said  Ware,  in  a  gloomy  tone. 

"  Do  n't  despair.  I  think  I  've  hit  the  right  thing 
at  last." 

"  How  7  What  is  it  1  Speak  out,  and  let  me 
hear  at  once."  This  was  said  in  a  quick,  excited 
tone. 

"Hear,  and  judge  for  yourself.  I  went  last 

night  to  see  P ,  against  whom,  you  know,  this 

prosecution  is  got  up.  After  sounding  him  pretty 
thoroughly,  I  found  that,  for  a  consideration — you 
know  he  goes  in  for  that,  and,  what  is  more,  is  as 
keen  for  the  rhino  now  as  he  was  before  the  axe 
of  justice  hung  suspended  over  his  head — that,  for 
a  consideration,  he  would  cause  his  lawyer  to  have 
the  trial  put  off,  on  the  plea  of  not  being  ready, 
until  after  the  twentieth." 


THE   TWO   BRIDES.  87 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  7"  asked  Ware  eagerly, 
his  whole  expression  and  manner  changing. 

"  O  yes.  He  can  be  bought  ovei  to  do  anything. 
And  this  is  a  matter  that  will  cost  him  neither  risk 
nor  labor." 

"  Will  he  take  a  *  promise  to  pay  V  " 

"  O  yes.  He  will  consider  it  a  debt  of  honor, 
you  know." 

"  Precisely.  Go  then,  Tom,  see  him  at  once, 
and  make  sure  of  him  at  any  price.  When  the 
arrangement  is  completed,  just  let  me  know  the 
amount,  and  I  will  fork  over  my  due  bill  in  a  little 
less  than  no  time  at  all.  It 's  all  safe  now,  I  can 
see.  Hurrah !" 

"  H-u-s-h,  Harry !  do  n't  go  into  spasmodics," 
was  the  reply  of  Tom  Handy,  as  he  turned  to  the 
door,  on  his  prompt  errand  to  the  gambler. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   TWO   BRIDES. 

Ox  the  evening  of  the  twentieth  of  May,  18 — , 
an  interview  of  touching  interest  occurred  in  one 
of  the  chambers  of  Mr.  ^Martin's  elegant  mansion 
— an  interview  never  forgotten  by  the  two  who 
alone  were  its  participants.  Those  two  were  Bell 
Martin  and  the  gentle,  pure-minded,  affectionate 
Mary,  before  introduced  to  the  reader.  Both  were 
to  become  brides  on  that  evening ;  but  under  what 
different  external  circumstances.  A  large  and 
brilliant  company  had  already  begun  to  assemble 
in  honor  of  the  one,  while  the  other  was  waiting 
the  arrival  of  her  humble  lover,  to  convey  her, 


88  BELL   MARTIN. 

alone  with  himself,  in  Mr.  Martin's  family  carri- 
age, to  the  minister's,  from  whence  she  was  to  be 
taken  to  a  small  house,  which  Mr.  Lane  had 
furnished  neatly  and  modestly,  and  there  to  be  in- 
troduced as  its  mistress.  One  was  arrayed  in  rich 
and  attractive  garments,  and  adorned  with  a  pro- 
fusion of  jewels — while  the  other  had  on  a  simple 
dress  of  pure  white,  and,  as  an  ornament,  a  single 
rose,  half  concealed  beneath  the  folds  of  her  glossy 
hair.  The  one  instantly  attracted  the  eye,  and 
awoke  a  sentiment  of  admiration  ;  while  the  unob- 
trusive innocence  and  native  gracefulness  of  the 
other,  touched  the  heart  with  a  feeling  of  tender- 
ness and  interest.  The  fancy  of  Bell  was  full  of 
undefined  but  pleasing  images,  and  her  eyes  bright 
and  sparkling.  Mary  had,  on  the  contrary,  a 
thoughtful,  sad  and  subdued  look,  while  her  eyes 
swam  in  moisture,  and  the  tears  seemed  ready  at 
every  moment  to  spring  forth  upon  her  cheek. 
The  tender  interest  which  was  felt  for  Bell  by  the 
latter,  would  not  permit  any  one  else  to  array  her 
for  the  bridal  occasion,  even  though  her  own  mar- 
riage was  to  take  place  on  the  same  evening.  She 
felt  it  to  be  her  last  sad  privilege  to  render  this 
service,  at  the  period  when  their 'paths,  which  had 
long  run  side  by  side  through  pleasant  and  flow- 
ery scenes,  were  about  diverging  ;  and  thus  feel- 
ing, she  claimed  the  privilege. 

The  scene  of  busy  preparation  at  last  over,  with 
the  degree  of  interest  which  had  prevented  a  free 
interchange  of  affectionate  parting  words  between 
the  two  maidens,  they  now  stood  looking  at  each 
other  with  feelings  of  warmer  affection  than  had 
ever  yet  swelled  their  bosoms — but  the  love  of  the 
humble  maiden  was  deeper  and  tenderer  than  that 
of  her  companion. 

"Dear  Bell!"  she  said,  laying  her  light  hand 
gently  upon  her,  and  looking  with  a  tearful  smile 


THE   TWO   BRIDES.  89 

in  her  face — "  you  must  forgive  the  freedom  with 
which  I  address  you,  for  at  this  moment  you  seem 
so  dear  to  me,  as  if  you  were  my  own  sister — 
that  I  must  speak  as  I  feel.  Will  you  sometimes 
think  of  me,  Bell  1  I  leave  the  only  home  and  the 
only  friends  I  have  ever  known ;  and  even  though 
I  shall  go  to  one  who  loves  me  tenderly,  and  who 
has  my  heart's  first,  best,  purest  affections,  yet  I 
shall  often  think  of  you,  and  sigh  for  the  home 
and  friends  of  my  early  and  happy  years." 

"  Think  of  you,  Mary  1  Dear  Mary !  Sister 
Mary,  I  should  rather  say,"  Bell  replied,  in  a  voice 
of  earnest  affection,  as  she  drew  her  arm  around 
the  gentle  maiden.  "  How  can  I  ever  forget  the 
self-sacrificing  companion  of  my  childhood  and 
maturer  years'?  You  have  borne  to  me,  to  all 
of  us,  Mary,  a  true  and  faithful  heart.  This  we 
have  ever  felt,  and  for  it  we  have  ever  loved  you. 
But  now,  as  we  are  about  separating,  I  feel  for 
you  a  purer  and  deeper  love.  You  are  as  my 
sister." 

"  For  you,"  replied  Mary,  "  I  have  long  felt  a 
like  tender  regard,  and  now,  that  a  new,  impor- 
tant and  momentous  change  is  about  taking  place 
in  our  histories,  that  feeling  toward  you  assumes 
a  hue  of  sadness  that  I  cannot  remove." 

"  Why  should  it  be  sad,  Mary  1  I  am  happy — 
and  before  me  is  a  brilliant  prospect.  Rather 
should  the  feeling  be  mine  for  you,  thus  rending 
all  the  pleasant  ties  of  early  years — thus  leaving 
the  bosom  of  that  family  in  which  you  have  been 
loved  and  cherished,  to  stand  up  alone  in  the 
world  beside  one,  who,  no  matter  how  tenderly  he 
may  love  you,  cannot  fill  every  place  in  a  wo- 
man's heart." 

"  All  that  I  feel,  Bell,"  was  Mary's  reply,  made 
in  a  tone  which  had  recovered  its  calmness.  "  But 
I  shall  be  happy,  perfectly  happy,  according  to  the 


00  BELL   MARTIN. 

measure  of  my  anticipations.  You,  I  fear,  will 
not." 

"  What  reason  have  you  for  so  fearing,  Mary1!" 

"  I  have  no  brilliant  expectations — you  have. 
Rarely,  I  believe,  so  says  the  world's  eventful 
history,  are  such  expectations  realized.  If  not  in 
your  case,  then  will  come  unhappiness.  I  hav7e 
thought  of  this  often  and  often,  when  I  have  heard 
your  expressions  of  delight  in  anticioation  of  com- 
ing joy,  and  often  have  I  felt  like  checking  them 
by  a  word.  To-night  I  cannot  help  doing  so.  O, 
then,  remember,  dear  Bell !  that  the  surest  way  to 
happiness,  is  to  expect  little  from  mere  external 
things.  These  are  ever  changing  and  passing 
away.  And,  above  all,  let  me  urge  you  not  to 
look  for  unalloyed  pleasures  in  your  married  life. 
There  will  be — there  must  be  in  the  very  nature 
of  things — uncongenialities  between  your  husband 
and  yourself,  and  if  I  have  formed  of  man's  char- 
acter a  true  idea,  the  wife  will  have  much  to  learn 
in  the  way  of  submission.  This  lesson  will  be 
harder  for  you  than  for  me." 

"  Why  harder,  Mary  1" 

"  For  this  reason.  Both  Mr.  Lane  and  myself 
have,  thus  far  in  life,  moved  in  subordinate  posi- 
tions, and  have  been  in  the  daily  habit  of  submit- 
ting our  wills  to  others — of  preferring  others  to 
ourselves.  Less,  then,  will  be  required  of  me  in 
the  way  of  submission  to  his  will,  and  what  is  re- 
quired will  cheerfully  be  given.  But  your  case  is 
different.  Neither  Mr.  Ware  nor  yourself  know 
much  about  this  yielding  to  others.  He  will,  as  a 
man,  from  the  confirmed  habit  of  having  his  own 
way  in  almost  every  thing,  expect  you  to  yield 
nearly  every  point  of  difference  to  him.  This  ypu 
will  find  a  hard  lesson,  indeed,  to  learn  ;  and  it  will, 
unless  you  guard  and  deny  yourself  very  much, 
be  the  fruitful  source  of  unhappiness." 


,  THE   TWO   BRIDES.  91 

"  Why  do  you  talk  so  strangely  to  me,  at  this 
time,  Mary  T  asked  Bell,  in  a  half-offended  tone. 

"  Because  I  love  you,"  was  the  quick  reply  of 
Mary,  as  she  leaned  her  head  upon  the  shoulder 
of  Bell,  and  gave  way  to  tears.  The  tone  and 
words  of  the  tetter  had  wounded  her  feelings. 

"Forgive  me,  Mary,"  said  Bell,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments, "  for  the  unkind  manner  in  which  I  spoke. 
Your  words  seemed  like  a  reflection  upon  Henry, 
and  that,  with  my  present  feelings  toward  him,  I 
cannot  bear." 

"Mary,  you  are  waited  for,"  said  a  servant, 
opening  the  chamber  door. 

"  Say  that  I  will  be  ready  in  a  few  moments," 
replied  Mary,  and  then  the  servant  withdrew. 

"  And  so  the  time  has  come,  at  last,  for  our  part- 
ing," was  the  remark  of  Bell,  in  a  tender  and  sub- 
dued voice,  after  they  were  again  alone.  "  I  shall 
miss  you  every  day,  and  every  hour,  Mary — and 
so  will  every  one  in  this  house.  What  you  have 
just  said,  comes  back  upon  me  now,  and  it 
may  be  too  true.  If  so,  your  way,  humble  and 
unseen  though  it  be,  will  be  a  happier  one  than 
mine." 

"  With  a  sincere  heart,  fervently  do  I  pray,  Bell, 
that  no  shadow  may  ever  fall  upon  you — that  your 
path  may  be  amid  sunshine  and  flowers.  But, 
should  this  not  be  the  case — should  it  so  happen, 
jn  the  mysterious  permission  of  Divine  Provi- 
dence, that,  in  some  future  time,  your  pillow  be- 
come a  thorny  one — that  even  a  single  sorrow 
press  upon  your  heart,  let  it  be  my  privilege  to 
speak  to  you,  if  I  can  do  no  more,  words  of  com- 
fort— to  pillow  your  head  upon  my  bosom.  If  no 
other  heart  remain  true  to  its  first  love  for  you, 
mine  will  still  pour  out  its  treasures  of  affection, 
and  be  blest  in  giving." 

Silently,   and    with   full  hearts,  did  the  two 


92  BELL   MARTIN. 

maidens  then  fold  each  other  in  their  arms. 
When,  at  last,  this  earnest  embrace  was  over, 
tears  were  on  the  cheeks  of  both.  Then  came  a 
long,  fond  gaze  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  an 
earnest  grasping  of  the  hands. 

"  Farewell,  Bell"— 

"  Farewell,  Mary" — 

were  uttered  with  choking  voices.  In  the  next 
minute  Bell  stood  alone  in  her  chamber,  and 
Mary's  hand  was  in  that  of  her  lover. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

BLIGHTED   HOPES. 

WE  must  now  pass  over  the  events  of  five 
years,  and  introduce  our  characters  at  the  end  of 
that  period.  It  is  unnecessary  to  tell  the  reader, 
that  the  marriage  of  Bell  Martin  has  been  an  un- 
happy one.  Scarcely  a  week  elapsed,  before  some 
act  or  word  from  her  husband  had  chilled  the 
warm  current  of  joyous  affection  that  was  gush- 
ing out  toward  him.  How  could  it  be  otherwise] 
She,  young,  innocent  and  confiding,  with  her  wo- 
man's heart  full  of  tenderness  and  truth — and  he, 
all  uninfluenced  by  a  feeling  or  a  principle  that 
was  not  purely  selfish.  The  coldness  with  which 
he  received,  from  the  very  first,  her  acts  of  exu- 
berant fondness,  that  were  but  the  natural  ex- 
pressions of  the  love  she  felt  for  him,  soon  taught 
her  one  of  the  hardest  lessons  a  young  wife  has  to 
learn;  and  many  months  had  not  passed  away 
before  this  lesson,  if  forgotten  in  a  moment  of 
warmer  feelings,  was  enforced  by  words. 


BLIGHTED   HOPES.  93 

It  is  not  often  that  the  young  wife,  even  when 
regarded  with  the  deepest  and  purest  affection, 
finds  that  affection  manifested  toward  her  in  what 
her  heart  recognizes  as  its  true  expression.  Nor 
does  she  ever,  or,  at  least,  but  rarely  indeed,  meet 
that  warm  reciprocation  in  word  and  act,  for 
which  her  heart  yearns.  This  is  the  natural  con- 
sequence of  differences  in  mental  conformation. 
But  where  the  affection  that  exists  is  a  genuine 
one,  the  husband  gradually  learns  to  manifest 
more  in  word  and  act  the  love  he  feels,  and  the 
wife  to  perceive  far  more  in  a  look  or  word,  or 
tone,  or  action,  than  she  did  in  the  first  months, 
or  years  of  wedded  life.  But,  alas  !  Where,  as 
in  the  case  of  Bell,  not  the  first  pure  emotion  of 
love  has  even  stirred  the  icy  surface  of  a  hus- 
band's feelings,  how  sad  must  be  the  condition  of 
a  wife ! 

The  coldness  that  soon  manifested  itself  in  her 
case,  was  followed  by  neglect,  and  a  seeming,  as 
it  was  a  real,  indifference  toward  her.  This  came 
earlier,  from  the  fact,  that  the  revelations  on  the 
trial  of  P ,  the  gambler,  destroyed  Mr.  Mar- 
tin's confidence  in  Ware — though  it  did  not  weak- 
en Bell's  affection  for  her  husband.  Indeed,  she 
took  Henry's  own  version  of  the  matter  as  the 
true  one,  which  version  made  him  an  innocent 
victim  of  circumstances. 

Following  these  revelations,  came  the  open  and 
avowed  determination  of  the  young  man  not  to 
bind  himself  down  to  the  plodding  duties  of  a  pet- 
tifogging lawyer,  as  he  expressed  it ;  accompanied 
by  requests  for  liberal  sums  of  money,  which  were 
refused.  Finding  that  Henry  had,  in  a  most 
heartless  and  cruel  manner,  deceived  them,  and 
that  he  was  now  disposed  to  act  out  his  real,  but, 
for  a  few  months,  concealed  character,  both  his 
own  father  and  the  father  of  Bell  felt  called  upon 


94  BELL   MARTIN. 

to  restrict  him  in  the  use  of  money,  to  the  end 
that  he  might  feel  compelled  to  apply  himself  to 
his  profession. 

But  this  result  did  not  follow.  He  was  too 
deeply  and  thoroughly  corrupted,  and  had,  in  his 
friend  Thomas  Handy,  too  ready  a  prompter  to 
evil.  Money  he  wanted,  and  money  he  must 
have.  Through  the  influence  of  Bell  with  her 
mother,  and  by  taking  from  her  hands,  freely  giv- 
en it  is  true,  nearly  every  dollar  which  she  re- 
ceived for  her  own  use,  he  obtained  small  sup- 
plies. These,  furnished  the  means  of  resort  to  the 
only  way  of  filling  his  purse  that  he  could  think 
of— the  gaming  table.  Of  course,  he  was,  for 
some  time,  a  constant  loser  in  the  main, — tempo- 
rary and  permitted  success,  being  followed,  sure- 
ly, by  the  entire  loss  of  his  little  capital,  and, 
very  frequently,  by  his  becoming  involved  in 
debts  of  honor,  to  pay  which  gave  him  no  little 
trouble. 

For  five  years  had  he  persevered  in  his  evil 
courses,  growing  all  the  while  more  and  more  in- 
different, or  openly  unkind  toward  his  wife.  Hav- 
ing no  further  cause  for  the  concealment  of  his 
real  character  and  feelings,  he  took  little  pains  to 
appear  what  he  was  not,  or  to  regulate  his  con- 
duct by  the  rule  of  appearances.  As  neither  his 
father  nor  the  father  of  Bell  would  support  the 
young  couple  in  an  establishment  of  their  own, 
and  for  the  very  best  of  reasons,  Ware  continued 
to  reside  with  his  wife  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Martin. 
But  even  this  constant  mingling  with  her  family, 
failed  to  influence  his  conduct  toward  her.  Rare- 
ly did  he  accompany  her  abroad,  and  never  did  he 
pretend  to  deny  himself  any  thing  for  her  sake, 
or  seem  to  feel  drawn  toward  home,  even  though 
two  pleasant  children  had  come  to  light  it  up  with 
their  sweet  smiles,  and  to  fill  it  with  the  music 


BLIGHTED   HOPES.  95 

of  their  happy  voices.  Rarely  did  he  come  in  be- 
fore one,  two,  and  sometimes  three,  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  then,  frequently,  in  a  state  of  partial  in- 
toxication. Added  to  this,  he  had  grown,  of  late, 
abstracted  and  sullen  in  his  manner,  rarely  joining 
in  any  conversation  with  the  family,  and,  some- 
times, not  coming  home  for  two  or  three  days  at 
a  time,  and  then  much  under  the  influence  of 
liquor. 

One  day,  about  the  period  indicated  in  the  open- 
ing of  this  chapter,  Lane,  the  chief  clerk  of  Mr. 
Martin,  who  had  been  engaged  in  settling  the 
Bank  account  for  the  previous  three  months,  came 
up  to  him,  holding  five  checks  in  his  hand,  each 
for  a  thousand  dollars,  and  said — 

"Mr.  Martin,  I  find  a  difference  in  our  ac- 
counts with  the  Bank,  of  just  five  thousand  dollars 
— and  here  are  five  cancelled  checks,  of  one  thou- 
sand dollars  each,  for  which  I  find  no  correspond- 
ing dates  or  numbers  in  our  check-book.  What 
can  this  mean  ?" 

Mr.  Martin  took  the  checks  from  the  hand  of 
his  clerk,  and,  after  examining  them  attentively 
for  a  moment  or  two,  said  with  a  look  of  alarm — 

"  These  are  forgeries,  Mr.  Lane !" 

"  So  I  feared,""was  the  clerk's  reply,  in  a  voice 
of concern. 

A  silence  of  some  moments  ensued,  when  Mr. 
Martin  asked— 

"  Do  your  suspicions  fall  upon  any  one  ?" 

"  They  do  not.  The  discovery  of  this  discre- 
pancy between  the  two  accounts,  and  the  fact  of 
your  pronouncing  the  checks  to  be  forgeries,  are 
so  recent,  that  I  have  not  had  time  to  think  be- 
yond the  mere  circumstance  that  a  forgery  has 
been  committed." 

"Do  not,  then,  allude,  in  any  way  to  the  fact ;  I 
will  inform  the  Bank,  and  leave  its  officers  to  take 


86  BELL   MARTIN. 

their  own  measures,  as  the  loss  will  fall  upon  the 
institution." 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  on  the  next  day, 
that  Mr.  Martin  was  sent  for,  in  great  haste,  by 
the  runner  of  the  Bank  in  which  his  account  was 
kept.  He  repaired  at  once  to  the  banking  house, 
and  was  shown  into  the  private  room  of  the 
Cashier. 

"  For  what  purpose  am  I  summoned  1"  he  asked, 
a  feeling  of  alarm  coming  over  him  as  he  looked 
steadily  into  the  officer's  face,  and  saw  that  it  wore 
a  painful  expression. 

"  We  have  already  detected  the  forger  of  your 
check  !"  the  Cashier  said. 

"And  secured  him]" 

"  Yes." 

«  Who  is  he  1" 

"  Sorry,  indeed,  am  I  to  say,  Mr.  Martin,  that  it 
is  your  own  son-in-law."  * 

"  Henry  Ware !"  ejaculated  the  merchant,  his 
face  blanched  to  an  ashy  paleness. 

"  It  is,  alas !  too  true,  Mr.  Martin.  The  unhappy 
young  man  is  now  in  the  custody  of  an  officer  of 
the  police." 

At  this  intelligence,  Mr.  Martin  sunk  into  a 
chair,  and  shading  his  face  with  his  hand,  sat  for 
some  time  before  his  agitated  feelings  were  suffi- 
ciently calmed  to  allow  his  thoughts  to  come  into 
distinct  forms.  At  length  he  said — 

"  And  so  the  matter  is  already  in  the  hands  of 
the  police  T' 

"  Yes,  sir.  A  check  was  presented  for  five 
thousand  dollars,  which  the  teller  at  once  detected 
as  a  forgery.  The  young  man  was  detained,  and 
an  officer  sent  for." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  this,"  replied  Mr.  Martin,  with 
a  troubled  countenance.  "  Why  did  you  not  first 
send  for  me." 


BLIGHTED    HOPES.  97 

"  That  course  would  have  been  pursued,  had  I 
known  the  young  man  at  the  moment  of  his  de- 
tection. The  fact  that  it  was  the  son  of  old  Mr. 
Ware,  and  the  husband  of  your  daughter,  came  to 
my  knowledge  too  late." 

"  Where  is  he  now  T' 

"He  was  taken  to  the  Mayor's  office  a  few 
minutes  before  you  came  in." 

"  Has  Mr.  Ware  been  informed  of  the  facts  ?" 

"  Not  through  me." 

Mr.  Martin  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  hurried 
away  to  the  Mayor's  office,  where  he  found  the 
young  man  undergoing  an  examination.  The  tes- 
timony of  the  teller  was  clear  as  to  the  fact  of  his 
having  presented  the  check  pronounced  a  forgery, 
and  the  Mayor  was  only  waiting  the  arrival  of  Mr. 
Martin,  for  whom  an  officer  had  been  despatched, 
to  have  the  check  pronounced  genuine  or  spurious, 
Reluctantly  he  was  compelled  to  say  that  the 
check  had  been  forged.  An  order  for  Ware's 
commitment  to  prison,  to  await  his  trial  at  the 
Quarter  Sessions,  followed  next  in  order.  To  pre- 
vent this,  Mr.  Martin  entered  into  a  recognizance 
in  the  sum  often  thousand  dollars,  for  his  appear- 
ance at  Court. 

This  done,  the  old  man  turned  away  sternly, 
without  letting  his  eyes  rest  upon  the  unhappy 
young  man.  From  the  Mayor's  office  he  went  to 
his  store.  After  informing  Mr.  Lane  of  the  pain- 
ful discovery  that  had  been  made,  he  bent  his  steps 
homeward,  with  a  troubled  and  heavy  heart.  On 
entering  the  family  sitting-room,  he  found  no  one 
in  but  Bell,  and  one  of  his  little  grandchildren,  a 
beautiful  boy,  who  was  playing  about  in  happy 
unconsciousness  of  the  guilt  of  one  parent,  and  the 
wretchedness  of  the  other. 

"  Where  is  your  mother,  Bell  ?"  he  asked  with 
9 


98  BELL   MARTIN. 

an  expression  of  countenance  that  made  the  blood 
feel  cold  about  the  heart  of  his  child. 

"  She  has  gone  out,"  was  the  reply,  while  his 
daughter  looked  earnestly  and  inquiringly  into  his 
face.  Then  followed  a  long  silence,  during  which 
Mr.  Martin  was  debating  the  question  whether  he 
should  at  once,  and  plainly,  unfold  to  his  child  the 
conduct  of  her  husband,  or  leave  her  to  discover  it 
in  some  other  way. 

The  manner  of  her  father  convinced  Bell  that 
something  was  wrong,  and  her  thoughts  turned 
instinctively  to  her  husband.  His  long  continued 
silence  at  length  became  so  distressing,  filling  her 
mind  as  it  did  with  vague  and  terrible  fears,  that 
she  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  forced  calmness, 
"  something  is  the  matter,  I  know.  If  it  concerns 
me,  nearly,  do  not  keep  me  in  suspense.  I  can 
bear  painful  news  from  your  lips  better  than  from 
another's." 

"  To  you,  my  dear,  suffering  child,"  replied  the 
old  man,  in  a  voice  that  trembled,  coming  to  her 
side  as  he  spoke,  "  the  news  I  have  to  tell  will  be 
painful  indeed." 

"  Does  it  concern  Henry  ?"  asked  Bell,  eagerly 
and  quickly,  looking  up  into  her  father's  face  with 
pale  and  quivering  lips. 

"It  does  concern  that  wretched  young  man, 
Bell." 

"  O,  father !  Speak  out  plainly !  How  does  it 
concern  him?" 

u  He  has  been  detected  in  the  crime  of  forgery." 

"  Father  !  it  cannot  be— it  is  not  true  !"  ex- 
claimed Bell,  starting  suddenly  to  her  feet,  an  in- 
dignant expression  glancing  across  her  face. 

"  Would  to  Heaven  it  were  not  so,  my  child  !*— 
But  it  is,  indeed,  too  true." 

"  Where— where  is  he,  father  ?" 


BLIGHTED   HOPES.  99 

"  I  do  not  know,  and  but  for  your  sake  I  would 
say,  that  I  did  not  care.  He  was  arrested  this 
morning,  and  carried  before  the  Mayor,  when  the 
crime  was  fully  proved.  I  was  present,  and  went 
his  bail  to  prevent  his  being  taken  to  prison." 

"  Upon  whom  was  the  forgery  committed  1"  ask- 
ed Bell,  in  a  firm  tone,  while  her  face  was  deadly 
pale. 

"  Upon but  that  is  of  no  consequence,  Bell." 

"But  I  wish  to  know,  father." 

"  You  know  enough,  already,  my  child ;  more, 
I  fear,  than  your  poor  afflicted  heart  can  bear." 

"  Was  it  on  you?"  persevered  the  daughter. 

«  Bell " 

"  Say,  father !    Was  it  upon  you  T' 

"  It  was,  my  child,"  replied  the  old  man,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation.  "  But  that  does  not  change, 
in  any  way,  the  features  of  the  case." 

The  half-expected,  but  dreaded  reply  of  her 
father,  smote  heavily  upon  Bell's  heart. 

"  Oh,  how  could  he  have  done  that !  How  could 
he  have  done  that !"  she  murmured,  in  a  low,  in- 
distinct tone,  dropping  her  head  upon  her  bosom. 
In  a  few  moments  the  tears  came  gushing  forth, 
while  her  whole  body  was  convulsed  with  violent 
sobs.  Her  little  boy,  seeing  the  distress  of  his 
mother,  ran  to  her  side  in  alarm,  and  climbing  up 
into  her  lap,  threw  his  arms  around  her  neck,  and 
while  his  tears  mingled  with  hers,  begged  her,  in 
lisping  accents,  not  to  cry. 

*»  Try  and  bear  it  as  well  as  you  can,  my  dear 
child,"  said  Mr.  Martin,  after  the  violence  of  Bell's 
emotion  had  subsided  in  a  degree. 

"  But,  father,  this  is  hard  tol)ear." 

"  I  know  it  Bell.  But  what  we  are  compelled  to 
bear  should  be  made  as  light  as  possible.  Your 
jiusband  has,  from  the  first,  shown  himself  not  only 
to  be  an  unprincipled  man,  but  has  treated  you 


100  BELL   MARTIN. 

with  a  coldness  and  cruelty  that  it  seems  to  me 
ought  long  since  to  have  utterly  estranged  your 
affections  from  him.  It  ought,  then,  not  to  be 
hard  to  bear  a  permanent  separation  from  him. 
To  be  to  him  as  if  he  were  not." 

"  Father !  Do  not  talk  so  about  my  husband, 
and  the  father  of  my  dear  little  ones  !  I  cannot 
bear  it.  If  I  am  willing  to  endure  all  this  coldness 
and  estrangement,  you  ought  not  to  complain. 
But  why  do  you  talk  of  a  permanent  separa- 
tion ]"  And  the  face  of  the  young  wife  grew  paler 
still. 

"  Are  you  not  aware,  Bell,  that  the  crime  of 
forgery  is  punishable  by  long  years  of  solitary 
confinement  in  the  penitentiary  ]  This  must  be 
your  husband's  inevitable  fate,  if  his  case  should 
come  to  trial,  which  I  presume  will  never  take 
place." 

"  How  can  that  be  prevented  1" 

"  By  his  going  away,  and  leaving  me  to  forfeit 
the  ten  thousand  dollars  bail." 

To  this  Bell  made  no  reply,  but  sat  in  a  musing, 
dreamy  attitude,  forgetful  of  all  around  her.  The 
cup  of  her  misery  seemed  full. 

As  for  old  Mr.  Martin,  his  mind  was  agitated  by 
many  conflicting  thoughts  and  painful  emotions. 
Family  pride  was,  with  him,  a  strong  feeling.  The 
unfortunate  marriage  of  his  daughter,  besides  its 
other  painful  concomitants,  deeply  wounded  this 
feeling,  and  had  caused  him  to  cherish  much  bit- 
terness toward  Henry  Ware.  Now  this  pride  was 
destined  to  receive  a  more  powerful  blow  in  the 
publicity  of  the  fact  that  the  husband  of  his  daugh- 
ter had  proved  a  forger. 

Hurriedly,  yet  involuntarily,  did  both  father  and 
daughter,  each  almost  entirely  forgetful  of  the 
other's  presence,  review  the  past  five  or  six 
years.  Alas!  how  had  they  mocked  all  the 


A  WIFE'S  LOVE.  101 

bright  promise  of  earlier  days.  Could  there  have 
been  a  more  utter  shipwreck  of  a  young  heart's 
best  affections  1  Couid  a  father's  tender  hopes  for 
his  child  have  been  more  deeply  and  incurably 
blighted  ? 

As  for  the  latter,  the  more  he  thought  about  the 
conduct  of  his  daughter's  husband,  the  more  his 
anger  was  aroused  against  him.  The  final  conclu- 
sion of  his  mind  was,  that  Henry  Ware  should 
never  again  cross  the  threshold  of  his  house,  nor 
Bell,  if  he  could  prevent  it,  ever  see  him  again. 

"No  good  can  come  out  of  it,"  he  argued  to 
himself,  "  and  much  harm  in  the  necessary  distur- 
bance of  my  poor  child's  mind.  Besides,  he  has 
not  only  violated  every  honorable  principle  in  his 
intercourse  and  connection  with  my  family,  but 
stands,  now,  in  the  position  of  a  criminal,  who  has 
deliberately  broken  the  laws  of  his  country.  No, 
no.  He  shall  never  enter  this  house  again  !" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  WIFE'S  LOVE. 

NEARLY  a  mile  away  from  the  fashionable 
neighborhood,  in  which  the  elegant  mansion  of 
Mr.  Martin  attracted  every  eye,  "stood  a  neat  little 
dwelling,  unpretending  without,  and  modestly  ar- 
ranged within.  Here  lived  Mr.  Lane  and  Mary, 
his  pure-minded,  loving  wife.  Two  dear  little 
ones  made  up  the  number  of  their  household 
treasures — sweet,  innocent  children,  who  bore  in 
9* 


102  BELL   MARTIN. 

their  young  countenances  the  miniature  image  of 
their  mother's  face.  Blessed  indeed  were  they  in 
the  marriage  union  !  Every  passing  day  but  en- 
deared them  more  and  more  to  each  other — for 
almost  every  day  developed  in  the  character  of 
each  some  new  moral  beauty  perceptible  to  the 
other.  In  regard  to  external  circumstances,  they 
had  no  cause  for  complaint.  The  liberal  salary 
which  Mr.  Martin  paid  to  one  in  whom  he  had 
such  good  cause  for  reposing  almost  unlimited 
confidence,  was  full  five  hundred  dollars  in  each 
year  more  than  was  required  to  meet  all  expenses 
incident  to  household  economy.  Already  had  he 
been  able  to  purchase  the  pleasant  little  dwelling 
into  which  his  dear  ones  were  gathered,  and  now 
he  was  depositing  the  surplus  of  his  salary  in  a 
savings  bank,  in  view  of  accumulating  a  small 
capital  with  which,  at  some  future  time,  to  enter 
into  business. 

The  discovery  of  Ware  as  the  forger  of  Mr. 
Martin's  checks  pained  him  very  deeply — not  so 
much  on  the  young  man's  account,  for  he  had 
never  regarded  him  in  any  other  light  than  that 
of  a  cold-hearted,  unprincipled  villain,  capable 
of  this  or  any  other  act  that  would  serve  his  sel- 
fish purposes;  but  for  the  sake  of  Mr.  Martin, 
and  especially  for  poor  Bell,  did  he  feel  pained  ex- 
ceedingly. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  on  coming  home  at  dinner 
time,  "  I  have  bad  news  to  tell  you.  Henry  Ware 
has  been  arrested  for  forgery,  and  the  fact  fully 
proved." 

"  Poor  Bell !"  exclaimed  Mary,  striking  her 
hands  suddenly  together.  "  Poor  Bell !  It  will  kill 
her !" 

"  It  may  go  hard  now,  Mary ;  but  it  will  be  bet- 
ter for  her  in  the  end." 

"How  so]" 


A  WIFE'S  LOVE.  103 

"  They  will  be  permanently  separated.  He  will 
have  to  go  away  from  here  before  his  trial  comes 
on,  and  leave  Mr.  Martin  to  pay  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars bail,  which  he  was  foolish  enough  to  involve 
himself  in,  or  be  sentenced  for  four  or  five  years 
imprisonment  in  the  Penitentiary." 

"  If  he  goes  away,  as  you  say,  cannot  he  return 
after  the  trial  is  over  1" 

"O  no.  The  crime  is  one  against  the  State, 
and  nothing  will  do  but  the  legaf  penalty.  He  can 
never  return,  if  he  goes  away,  without  being  sub- 
ject to  a  revival  of  the  prosecution.  As  I  said  be- 
fore, I  have  no  doubt  but  that  it  will  be  far  better 
for  her  never  to  see  him  again." 

"  But  you  must  remember  that  he  is  her  hus- 
band, and  the  father  of  her  children.  That  he 
called  out  the  first  ardent  feelings  of  a  young  and 
affectionate  heart ;  feelings  that  even  cruel  ne- 
glect and  wrong  have  not  been  able  to  subdue. 
You  must  remember  that  she  still  looks  up  to  and 
rests  upon  him  as  her  husband." 

"  How  can  she  thus  rest,  Mary,  when  there  is 
not  in  his  character  a  single  healthy  moral  princi- 

Fle  1    I  confess  that  I  do  not  understand  it.     She 
know  to  be  innocent  and  pure-minded.    How,  , 
then,  can  she  cling  to  one  so  utterly  unprincipled 
as  Henry  Ware  ?" 

"  He  is  her  husband !"  was  Mary's  emphatic 
reply. 

"  Still  I  do  not  understand  it." 

"  The  reason  is  plain." 

"What  is  it]" 

"  You  have  not  a  woman's  heart." 

"  True,  Mary, — and  that  may  explain  it.  But  I 
will  not  say  that  it  does." 

"  How  long  will  it  be  before  the  trial  comes  on!" 
asked  Mary,  after  a  thoughtful  pause. 
About  a  month,  I  think." 


104  BELL   MARTIN. 

"  A  month  7  Until  that  time,  he  can,  of  course, 
remain  in  Philadelphia  T 

"  Yes,  if  he  chooses  to  do  so." 

"  I  wish,  for  the  sake  of  Bell,  that  the  trial  would 
come  on  in  a  week." 

"Why  so!" 

"  Because  in  that  case  she  would  the  sooner  be 
separated  from  him." 

"  My  own  impression  is  that  she  will  never  see 
him  again." 

"Why]" 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  Mr.  Martin  will  permit 
Ware  to  enter  his  house.  He  was  terribly  in- 
censed against  him." 

"  That  will  not  prevent  Bell  from  seeing  him. 
She  loves  him  too  well,  even  though  he  has  almost 
broken  her  heart  If  he  is  not  allowed  to  come 
into  her  father's  house,  she  will  go  to  his  father's, 
or  any  where  else,  for  the  purpose  of  meeting  him. 
I  wish  she  could  give  him  up ;  but  I  fear  that  she 
cannot." 

"  She  will  have  to  give  him  up  soon,  Mary." 

"  I  know  it.  But  she  will  not  do  it  until  the 
last  moment.  Of  that  I  am  sure." 

"  Cannot  you  influence  her  in  the  matter  ?" 

"Not  so  far  as  to  prevent  her  meeting  him. 
And,  indeed,  I  could  not  urge  her  upon  this  sub- 
ject. He  is  her  husband — and  she  loves  him  deep- 
ly. Why  should  she  not  be  permitted  the  sad 
pleasure  of  a  few  stolen  interviews  with  him,  ere 
they  are  parted,  perhaps  forever  1" 

"  Would  it  not  be  well  for  you  to  go  over  and 
see  her  this  afternoon  T' 

"  O,  yes.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  as  soon  as 
I  learned  the  painful  intelligence.  Since  Fanny's 
marriage  and  removal  to  New  York,  there  has 
been  no  one  but  myself  to  whom  she  has  felt  free 


A  WIFE'S  LOVE.  105 

to  tell  all  her  fe.elings,  and  thus  find  relief  in  their 
expression." 

It  was  about  four  o'clock,  on  the  same  after- 
noon, that  a  gentle  tap  at  Bell's  chamber  door, 
aroused  her  from  a  state  of  gloomy  abstraction. 
Her  low,  half-reluctant  "  come  in,"  was  answered 
by  the  entrance  of  Mary.  They  were  in  each 
other's  arms  in  a  moment,  the  tears  gushing  from 
the  eyes  of  both.  For  many  minutes  they  were 
together  in  silence.  At  last,  the  feelings  of  each 
became  subdued. 

"O,Mary!  is  not  this  dreadful)"  said  Bell  at 
length,  the  tears  flowing  afresh. 

"  It  is  indeed  dreadful,  Bell,"  replied  Mary,  as 
soon  as  she  could  command  her  voice.  "  And, 
much  as  my  heart  yearns  for  the  ability,  I  know 
not  how  to  offer  you  words  of  comfort." 

"  That  is  in  the  power  of  no  one,  Mary !  For 
me  there  is  nothing  left  but  stern  endurance.  Oh, 
Mary !  To  think  that  Henry  should  have  been  so 
mad,  so  wicked,  as  to  commit  such  a  crime !  I 
could  have  borne  all  his  neglect  of  me,  and  still 
lived  on,  cherishing,  as  I  have  done,  the  hope  that 
a  day  would  come  when  all  the  excitements  that 
won  him  away  from  me,  would  lose  their  power 
over  him,  and  then  he  would  be  to  me  all  that  I 
could  desire.  That  then  he  would  discover  how 
deeply  and  fondly  I  had  loved  him,  through  neglect 
and  unkindness,  and  be  constrained  to  give  me 
back  his  neart  in  return.  But  alas!  alas!  All 
these  long  and  ardently  cherished  hopes  have 
been  scattered,  in  a  moment,  to  the  winds.  He 
has  been  guilty  of  crime,  and  must  flee,  like  a 
hunted  criminal,  or,  remaining,  receive  the  stern 
sentence  of  the  law  for  his  misdeeds." 

"Have  you  seen  him  since  morning)"  asked 
Mary,  after  a  pause. 

"  No,  Mary.    And  what  is  more,  father  says  he 


106  BELL  MARTIN. 

shall  never  enter  this  house  again.  I  cannot  blame 
him,  but  I  feel  it  to  be  very  hard.  He  is  my  hus- 
band still,  and  I  cannot  give  him  up." 

"  But  is  it  not  better  that  you  should  not  see 
him  again,  Bell]  The  interview  would  only  have 
the  effect  to  wound  still  deeper  your  already 
crushed  feelings." 

"  I  must  see  him,  Mary,  and  I  will  see  him," 
replied  Bell  with  a  sudden  energy.  "  Can  you 
suppose,  for  a  moment,  that  1  would  let  him 
go  away,  never  again  to  return — to  be  an  out- 
cast in  the  world — a  pursued  and  hunted  man 
— and  not  give  him  a  wife's  parting  blessing? 
No — no — Mary!  I  must  and  will  see  him — 
and  that  many  times — before  we  part,  perhaps, 
for  ever." 

"  Do  not  act  too  broadly  against  your  father's 
desire,  Bell,"  urged  Mary. 

"  He  is  my  husband,"  was  the  firm  reply ;  "and 
now,  when  all  turn  from  him,  shall  his  wife  give 
him  up  ?  No,  Mary !  That  would  be  a  sin 
against  nature.  I  cannot  and  I  will  not  give  him 
up." 

The  manner  of  Bell  showed  that  she  was  reso- 
lute in  her  determination,  and  therefore  Mary  did 
not  urge  her  further  upon  a  subject  so  painful  to 
both. 


CRIME  AND  ITS   CONSEQUENCES.  107 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

CRIME   AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES. 

WHEN  old  Mr.  Ware  received  the  painful  and 
mortifying  intelligence  of  his  son's  crime,  he  be- 
came deeply  incensed,  and  when  he  met  him,  up- 
braided him  with  his  conduct  in  bitter  terms. 

"  You  are  no  longer  my  son !  I  disown  you 
from  this  moment !"  he  said  in  angry  tones.  "My 
son  could  not  be  guilty  of  baseness  and  crime." 

"Blame  yourself  alone,  as  I  do,"  was  the  young 
man's  brief,  but  stern  reply. 

"  What  do  you  mean  1"  asked  the  father,  still  in 
a  voice  of  anger. 

"  I  mean,  simply,  that  in  consequence  of  your 
refusal  to  supply  me  with  the  money  required  to 
make  such  an  appearance  as  a  young  man  in  my 
station  in  society  had  a  right  to  make,  I  was  driv- 
en to  the  gaming-table,  where  debts  of  honor  ac- 
cumulated against  me  to  such  an  extent,  that  I 
could  wipe  them  out  no  other  way  than  by  for- 
gery. Mr.  Martin,  like  yourself,  has  played 
toward  me  a  niggardly  part,  and  upon  his  purse  I 
first  commenced  operations.  In  doing  so,  I  mere- 
ly took  what  he  should  long  since  have  given.  I 
do  not  consider  my  offence  a  criminal  one." 

This  mode  of  reasoning  excited  Mr.  Ware  still 
more,  especially  as  there  was  an  air  of  insolence 
and  hardihood  -about  his  son,  that  ill  became  one 
in  his  peculiar  circumstances.  A  keen  retort 
trembled  on  his  tongue,  but  he  suppressed  it,  and 
turning  away  quickly,  left  the  young  man  to  his 
own  reflections.  These  wrere  not  of  a  very  pleasant 
nature,  for  he  was  yet  undetermined,  fully,  in  re- 


108  BELL   MARTIN. 

gard  to  future  action.  To  leave  the  city  would 
be,  of  course,  his  first  movement,  unless  prevented 
from  so  doing.  But  where  to  hide  himself  away 
from  the  law's  searching  glances  he  knew  not,  nor 
how  he  should — cut  off  entirely  from  every  re- 
source but  his  own  exertions,  as  he  expected  to 
be,  now  that  both  Mr.  Martin  and  his  father  were 
so  incensed  against  him — maintain  himself  even 
in  an  humble  position. 

On  the  next  morning  the  newspapers  teemed 
with  various  accounts  of  the  forgery,  and  with 
many  allusions  to  the  families  of  both  Mr.  Ware 
and  Mr.  Martin.  Some  few  hesitated  not  to  assert 
that  the  young  man  would,  of  course,  escape  the 
legal  penalty  of  his  crime,  seeing  that  his  father 
and  father-in-law  were  rich  men.  Others  suddenly 
remembered,  or  thought  they  remembered,  a  some- 
what similar  case,  in  which  an  uncle  of  young 
Ware  had  been  implicated  many  years  previous. 
These  things  were  deeply  galling  to  both  families, 
and  to  all  who  stood  in  any  way  connected  with 
them. 

Painfully  mortified  at  the  position  in  which 
the  discovery  of  his  conduct  had  placed  him, 
Henry  Ware  shrunk  away  in  his  father's  house 
from  an  exposure  of  himself  to  the  public  eye. 
The  only  one  there  who  seemed  to  feel  for  him 
was  his  mother.  She  could  not  frown  upon  her 
child,  now  that  every  tongue  spake  against  him. 
Much  as  she  abhorred  his  conduct,  she  could 
not  resist  the  pleadings  of  maternal  love  for  her 
child. 

She  had  been  with  him  alone  for  nearly  an 
hour,  on  the  morning  following  the  discovery  of 
his  mad  act,  and  her  conversation  and  manifesta- 
tion of  deep  affection,  wounded  and  bruised  as  it 
was,  had  softened  his  feelings  a  good  deal,  when 
a  letter,  addressed  to  him,  was  handed  in.  He 


CRIME   AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES.  109 

broke  the  seal  hurriedly,  and  read,  not  unmoved, 
the  following  touching  epistle  from  his  wife : — 

"  MY  DEAR  HUSBAND— Since  the  dreadful  news 
of  yesterday  morning,  I  have  been  waiting  with  a 
fluttering  heart  to  see  you  or  to  hear  from  you. 
Now,J  am  told  that  you  are  no  more  to  enter 
these  walls,  and  that  I  am  never  again  to  hold  com- 
munication with  you.  But  this,  no  human  being  has 
power  to  say,  but  yourself.  Are  you  not  my  hus- 
band?— my  husband  whom  I  have  loved  with  a 
depth  and  devotedness  that  tongue  cannot  tell  1 — 
And  shall  I  not  cling  to  you  until  the  last  ]  Cling 
to  you  with  a  closer  and  more  self-renouncing 
love,  as  all  others  turn  from  you  1  Yes !  If  I  of- 
fend all  the  world,  I  will  love  my  husband !  Love 
him  through  evil  report  and  good  report.  Thus 
far,  Henry,  I  have  loved  you  under  coldness  and 
neglect — pardon  my  allusion  to  the  past — loved 
you,  when  the  allurements  of  the  world  won  you 
away  from  your  wife,  and  made  the  smile  on  her 
lip  seem  all  unattractive.  Now,  the  world  turns 
from  you,  but  your  wife  still  remains  true  in -her 
affection  as  the  needle  to  the  pole.  Will  you  not 
now  love  her  for  her  unwavering  devotion  1  O, 
Henry  !  If  you  knew  how  my  poor  heart  yearns 
for  pleasant  words,  and  tender  looks,  you  would 
no  longer  withhold  them.  Where  are  you?  I 
send  this  to  your  father's,  in  the  hope  that  it  may 
reach  your  hand.  Should  it  do  so,  send  me  word 
where  you  are,  and,  oh !  how  eagerly  will  I  fly  to 
you. 

Yours,  in  life  and  death,  BELL." 

After  reading  this  letter,  Ware  sat  fora  moment 
in  thoughtful  silence,  and  then  handed  it  to  his 
mother.    After  glancing  hurriedly  through  it,  she 
returned  it  with  the  remark — 
10 


110  BELL   MARTIN. 

"  Henry,  among  all  your  faults,  not  the  least  has 
been  your  conduct  toward  your  wife.  Bell  has  not 
deserved  the  coldness  and  neglect  with  which  you 
have  treated  her." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  was  the  half  impatient  reply. 
"But  that  cannot  now  be  helped.  As  it  is,  I 
do  not  see  that  any  good  can  grow  out  of  our 
meeting.  I  must  soon  leave  this,  never  again  to 
return ;  and  so  the  quicker  she  can  forget  me,  the 
better." 

"  Do  not  talk  in  that  way,  Henry,"  said  Mrs. 
Ware,  interrupting  her  son.  "  You  cannot,  and 
you  must  not,  deny  poor  Bell  the  melancholy 
pleasure  of  seeing  you.  Reply  to  this  note  at 
once,  and  say  that  you  are  here.  Address  her 
kindly  and  even  tenderly — for  tender  words  will 
be  sweet  to  her  heart  just  now;  and  surely,  you 
can  give  those,  if  nothing  else." 

About  an  hour  after,  as  Bell  sat  alone  with  her 
two  children,  a  note  came  from  her  husband.  It 
ran  thus : — 

"•MY  DEAR  BELL— Your  affectionate  note  has 
touched  my  feelings  a  good  deal,  and  made  me 
conscious  of  how  deeply  I  have  wounded  a  heart 
whose  every  pulsation  has  been  true  to  me.  I  am 
now  at  my  father's  house,  where  I  shall  remain  for 
a  short  time,  previous  to  my  final  departure  from 
this  city.  Here  I  can  no  longer  remain  in  safety 
.  Come  and  see  me. 

"  Yours,  &c.  HENRY  WARE." 

Without  an  intimation  to  any  one  of  her  de- 
sign, Bell  instantly  repaired  to  the  house  of  Mr. 
Ware.  Here  she  held  a  long  interview  with  her 
husband,  in  which  more  expressions  of  tenderness 
•fell  from  his  lips,  than  had  greeted  her  ears  since 
the  first  few  months  of  their  married  life  hurried 


CRIME   AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES.  Ill 

pleasantly  and  rapidly  away.  It  mattered  not 
how  sincere  they  were  on  his  part.  To  her  spirit, 
they  were  like  cool,  refreshing  dews  to  the  dry 
and  thirsty  ground.  Dearer  than  ever  did  he 
seem  to  her,  and  more  painful  than  at  first  was 
the  idea  of  a  separation. 

It  was  between  two  and  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  when  Bell  returned.  While  standing  at 
the  door,  waiting  for  the  servant  to  open  it,  her 
father  came  up. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  Bell  ]"  he  asked,  look- 
ing her  gravely  in  the  face,  as  soon  as  they  had 
entered  the  hall. 

"  I  have  been  to  Mr.  Ware's,"  she  replied,  in  a 
hesitating  voice,  while  her  cheek  colored,  and  her 
eyes  fell  upon  the  floor. 

"  To  Mr.  Ware's  1  and  at  this  time !  Why  did 
you  go  there,  Bell  ]" 

"  It  is  scarcely  necessary  for  me  to  tell  the  rea- 
son, father.  I  went,  of  course,  to  see  Henry." 

"And  after  what  I  said  to  you  this  morning'!" 
rejoined  Mr.  Martin,  in  an  excited  tone. 

"Father,  he  is  my  husband,  and  my  heart 
will  cling  to  him  until  it  is  broken,"  was  the 
daughter's  reply.  Then  bursting  into  tears,  she 
glided  away,  and  sought  the  sanctuary  of  her  own 
chamber. 

"Infatuated  girl !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Martin.  But 
his  words  did  not  reach  her  ear. 

In  despite  of  argument,  remonstrance,  persua- 
sion, and  every  other  means  resorted  to  for  the 
purpose  of  influencing  her,  Bell  repaired  regularly 
to  the  house  of  Mr.  Ware,  and  spent  hours  of  each 
day  with  her  husband.  From  him,  she  learned  his 
plans  in  regard  to  the  future.  Under  the  assumed 
name  of  Johnson,  he  would  repair  to  New  Or- 
leans, and  upon  a  capital  of  two  or  three  thousand 
dollars,  which  his  father  had  promised  to  give  him 


112  BELL   MARTIN. 

at  parting,  he  stated  to  her  that  he  intended  to 
enter  into  some  business,  and  try,  if  possible,  to 
reform  himself.  As  soon  as  he  got  a  little  ahead 
there,  he  purposed  going  to  Cuba,  as  a  place  of 
permanent  residence.  There  he  would  be  free 
from  the  threatening  penalties  of  the  law  he  had 
so  madly  violated.  The  ten  thousand  dollars  for 
which  Mr.  Martin  would  be  held  liable,  were  to 
be  paid  over  by  his  father  when  the  day  of  trial, 
came  and  it  was  found  that  the  recognizance  had 
been  forfeited. 

In  all  these  plans,  eagerly  as  her  ear  listened  for 
it,  there  was  nothing  said  about  her  being  sent  for 
to  join  him. 

"How  soon  do  you  think  that  you  will  get 
fairly  into  business  in  New  Orleans  ]"  she  asked, 
about  a  week  before  the  day  fixed  for  his  depar- 
ture. 

"  In  a  few  months  after  my  arrival  there,  I 
nope." 

"  Shan  't  I  come  out  to  you  then  ?" 

The  voice  of  Bell  trembled  as  she  asked  this 
question,  and  the  tears  filled  her  eyes. 

"Leave  your  comfortable  home,  surrounded 
with  luxury  and  elegance,  and  join  me,  an  out- 
cast, in  a  strange  city]  That  idea  never  crossed 
my  mind,  Bell." 

"But  it  has  mine,  a  hundred  and  a  hundred 
times,"  replied  his  wife.  "  Whenever  you  go,  I 
am  ready  to  follow,  and  fully  prepared  to  share 
your  lot,  be  it  what  it  may." 

To  this,  Ware  did  not  reply  for  some  minutes. 
Then  he  said — 

"  For  a  time,  Bell,  I  think  you  had  better  re- 
main here.  I  know  not  what  may  befall  me.  It 
may  happen  that  all  my  efforts  will  prove  un- 
successful, and  that  I  may  find  myself  far  away 
from  home  and  friends,  in  sickness  and  destitu- 


CRIME   AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES.  113 

tion.  If  such  should  be  the  case,  I  can  write  free- 
ly to  you,  and  through  you  at  least  obtain  some 
small  relief.  If  success  should,  however,  crown 
my  efforts,  then  you  can  readily  join  me.  In  fact, 
I  could  come  on  as  far  as  Baltimore,  and  meet  you 
there." 

To  this  arrangement  Bell  consented.  Two 
weeks  previous  to  the  day  of  trial,  Ware  took 
leave  of  the  few  friends  who  were  in  the  secret 
of  his  movements,  and  left  Philadelphia.  To  his 
mothers  and  sisters  the  parting  was  painful  in  the 
extreme.  It  was  to  them  as  if  death  were  about 
to  separate  him  from  them  —  aye,  worse  than 
death,  for  it  was  dishonor  and  crime,  and  the  sep- 
aration was  to  be  permanent.  Old  Mr.  Ware 
assumed  a  stern  aspect,  but  as  he  took  the  hand 
of  his  son  in  the  final  pressure,  and  looked  upon 
his  face  for  the  last  time  perhaps,  his  feelings  gave 
way. 

"  God  bless  you,  Harry !"  he  said  in  a  choking 
voice,  and  then  turned  away  hastily  to  hide  his 
feelings.  He  might  never  see  the  face  of  his  son 
again — his  only  son,  upon  whom  he  had  so  often 
looked  in  hope  and  pride,  now  parting  from  him, 
perhaps,  forever,  and  with  a  stain  upon  his  char- 
acter which  nothing  could  wipe  out. 

As  for  Bell,  that  parting  hour  was  the  bitterest 
of  her  life.  And  yet  she,  of  all  whom  he  had  left 
behind  him,  was  the  only  one  that  had  the  feeblest 
hope  of  ever  again  seeing  his  face.  But,  fond 
creature,  she  dreamed  not  of  the  cold-hearted  sel- 
fishness with  which  he  laid  his  real  plans  for  the 
future  in  regard  to  her.  As  to  going  into  business 
in  New  Orleans,  there  was  some  truth  in  that ;  but 
it  was  the  business  of  gambling  and  cheating. 
Fortune  he  expected  to  go  often  against  him,  and 
of  course  he  would  need  fresh  supplies  of  money. 
With  Bell  and  his  mother  he  determined  to  keep 
10* 


114 


BELL   MARTIN. 


up  a  regular  correspondence,  deceiving  them 
throughout  in  regard  to  what  he  was  doing,  and 
as  to  the  real  motives  of  action  that  governed  him. 
He  knew  that  he  could  readily  deceive  them,  and 
through  this  deception  he  had  little  doubt  but  that 
he  could  often  obtain  money.  If  in  this  way  he 
could  not  still  manage  to  drain  the  purses  of  his 
father  and  Mr.  Martin,  it  was  his  determination  to 
induce  Bell  to  join  him,  under  the  belief  that  her 
father,  who  was  deeply  attached  to  his  daughter, 
as  he  well  knew,  would  transmit  liberal  sums  to 
her  in  order  to  keep  her,  as  she  had  been  all  her 
life,  above  the  want  of  any  thing  that  money 
could  procure.  Thus,  with  a  degree  of  cruel  sel- 
fishness, hardly  paralleled,  did  this  wretched 
young  man  lay  his  plans  of  future  action. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

COMPANIONS   IN  EVIL. 

IT  was  about  three  years  from  the  time  that 
Henry  Ware,  exiled  by  crime  from  his  home  and 
friends,  left  Philadelphia,  that  two  men  sat  con- 
versing in  a  private  room  of  an  obscure  tavern  in 
what  was  called  "  Natchez-under-the-Hill."  Both 
were  evidently  young,  or,  at  least,  in  the  earliest 
prime  and  freshness  of  manhood — yet  strong  lines 
had  already  deepened  on  their  foreheads,  and 
every  lineament  of  their  countenances  bore  vivid- 
ly the  marks  of  evil  and  selfish  passions  long  in- 
dulged. A  skin  deeply  bronzed,  and  large  black 
whiskers,  meeting1  under  their  chins,  gave  effect  to 


COMPANIONS   IN  EVIL.  115 

the  singularly  bold  and  ferocious  aspect  of  their 
faces.  They  sat  opposite  to  each  other,  at  a  small 
square  table,  upon  which  were  glasses  and  a  de- 
canter, containing  nearly  a  quart  of  brandy. 
Each  was  resting  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and  his 
chin  upon  his  hands,  and  each  was  looking  the 
other,  while  they  conversed,  intently  in  the  face. 

"  What  then,  in  the  devil's  name,  is  to  be 
done  V9  one  of  them  asked,  in  a  quick,  excited 
tone,  after  listening  to  something  which  the  other 
had  said. 

"  We  must  leave  here,  of  course." 

"Of  course.  But  can  we  get  away  safely] 
That 's  the  question." 

"  I  think  so." 

"How]" 

"  We  must  assume  a  disguise." 

"Of  what  kind]" 

To  this  the  companion  replied  by  taking  from 
his  pocket  a  small  package,  which  he  carefully 
opened,  and  exhibited  two  pairs  of  green  spec- 
tacles. 

"  We  must  shave  off  our  whiskers,  and  mount 
a  pair  of  spectacles  a-piece,"  said  he  with  a  grin 
that  fell  sadly  short  of  a  smile,  for  which  it  was 
intended. 

"And,  in  that  disguise,  return  to  New  Or- 
leans]" 

"  Yes." 

"But,  will  we  be  safe  there,  if  this  fellow  should 
take  it  into  his  head  to  die]  His  connections 
are  rich,  and  will  make  great  efforts  to  have  us 
arrested." 

"Let  me  get  once  into  New  Orleans,  and  I'll 
defy  them,"  replied  the  companion. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  door  was  opened  by  a 
coarse,  ill-dressed  fellow,  who  entered  familiarly, 


116  BELL  MARTIN. 

and  walking  up  to  the  table  where  the  two  men 
sat,  each  regarding  him  with  a  frown,  said  : 

"  There  are  a  couple  of  chaps  down  stairs  ask- 
ing for  Mr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Smith." 

"  They  are  not  in,  Mike,"  one  of  the  men  re- 
plied. 

"  O,  aye.  But  I  'm  pretty  sure,  from  their  looks, 
that  they  will  not  take  my  word  for  it." 

•*  Indeed !"  And  the  face  of  the  individual  thus 
ejaculating  turned  somewhat  pale. 

"  My  name  is  Hartly.  Will  you  remember  that, 
Mike  r  said  Johnson,  or  Henry  Ware,  which  was 
truly  his  name. 

"  O  aye,  sir." 

"  And  mine  Haines.  Don 't  forget  that,  Mike," 
added  Smith,  or  Tom  Handy,  Ware's  inseparable 
companion  in  evil,  who  had  been,  really,  as 
much  implicated  as  himself  in  the  forgeries  for 
•which  both  were  now  self-banished  from  home 
and  friends. 

"  I  won 't  forget,"  replied  Mike.  "  But  names  are 
nothing,  you  know,  to  these  men,  who  are  not 
going  to  leave  the  house  until  they  know  who  are 
in  it,  or  I  'm  mistaken." 

"  Keep  'em  on  the  wrong  scent  for  some  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes,  will  you,  Mike  1" 

"O,  aye.  Trust  me  for  that."  And  the  bar- 
keeper, and  doer-of-all-things-in-general  about  the 
establishment,  made  his  bow,  and  departed. 

As  soon  as  he  had  withdrawn,  the  door  was 
locked  after  him,  and  the  two  young  men  pro- 
ceeded, hurriedly,  first  to  shave  offtheir  whiskers, 
and  then  to  change  their  external  garments  for 
others  that  had  not  been  worn  by  them  during 
their  brief  professional  visit  to  Natchez.  Green 
spectacles  and  caps  gave  the  finishing  touch  to 
their  metamorphoses. 

"  Well,  Hartly,  do  you  think  you  would  know 


COMPANIONS    IN  EVIL.  117 

me,  if  we  were  to  meet  in  the  street  1"  asked  Han- 
dy, or  Haines,  as  he  had  newly  styled  himself, 
turning  toward  his  friend. 

"  I  should  certainly  never  suspect  that  it  was 
you.  But  how  do  I  lookl" 

"  Like  Mr.  Hartly,  and  no  one  else.  Can  I  say 
morel" 

"  And  you,  like  Mr.  Haines.  Well,  I  think  we 
may  venture  to  pass  the  gentlemen  who  are  so 
kindly  waiting  for  us  below." 

"I  think  so.  There,  do  you  hear  that  bell 
again1?" 

"  Yes.  It  is  the  Gulnare's.  She  has  been 
ringing  for  the  last  five  hours,  and  I  suppose  will 
get  off  now  in  the  course  of  an  hour  more.  Shall 
we  get  on  board  of  her  1" 

"Most  certainly!  The  quicker  we  can  get 
away  from  here  the  better." 

Every  thing  being  carefully  packed  away  in 
their  trunks,  the  two  companions  descended,  with 
a  careless,  indifferent  air,  to  the  bar-room,  where 
Mike  was  busily  attending  to  his  customers.  As 
they  entered,  they  were  eyed  searchingly  from 
head  to  foot,  by  two  men,  whose  appearance  told 
plainly  enough  their  business.  This  scrutiny  con- 
tinued until  Mike  said — 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Hartly!  What  will  you 
have  ?  Good  morning,  Mr.  Haines !" 

"  A  little  brandy  and  water,"  was  the  reply. 

Neither  the  appearance  nor  names  of  the  two 
men  corresponding,  in  any  degree,  with  the  de- 
scriptions of  the  individuals,  which  the  officers — 
for  such  they  were — had  been  directed  to  arrest 
for  an  assault  with  intent  to  kill  the  son  of  a 
wealthy  citizen  of  Natchez,  who  had  come  into 
collision  with  them  at  a  gambling  table,  these  per- 
sonages withdrew,  in  a  few  moments,  their  atten- 
tion from  the  real  objects  of  their  search. 


118  BELL   MARTIN. 

As  Handy  bent  over  the  counter  to  pay  for  the 
brandy  they  had  taken,  he  pronounced,  in  a  low 
tone,  to  Mike,  the  word 

"  Gulnare." 

"  O,  aye  1"  responded  Mike,  perfectly  compre- 
hending his  meaning.  And  the  two  walked  de- 
liberately away,  and  repaired  to  the  boat  upon 
which  they  designed  taking  passage  for  Xew  Or- 
leans. In  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  Mike  ap- 
peared with  their  baggage,  and  for  the  very  import- 
ant assistance  he  had  rendered  Ware  and  Han- 
dy, received  a  ten  dollar  bill,  which  he  pocketed 
with  a  grateful  smile,  and  bowing  hurriedly  de- 
parted. 

With  fear  and  trembling  did  the  young  men 
wait  for  nearly  three  hours  for  the  boat  to  move 
off,  the  bell  ringing  about  every  quarter  of  an 
hour,  giving  all  the  town,  and  the  officers  of  police 
in  particular,  notice — so  it  seemed  to  them — that 
they  were  on  board.  Six  times,  during  that  pe- 
riod, did  they  have  to  endure  the  excruciating 
anxiety  consequent  upon  as  many  visits  from  the 
officers  who  had  put  them  in  such  bodily  fear  at 
the  tavern.  And  for  the  last  half  hour,  they  were 
compelled  tremblingly  to  endure  their  constant 
presence. 

Finally,  as  every  thing  must  have  an  end,  their 
suspense  ended.  The  last  prolonged  vibrations 
from  the  bell  echoed  along  the  hills,  and  died  away 
into  silence,  as  the  boat  was  loosed  from  her 
moorings,  and  fell  gently  down  the  stream.  Not, 
however,  until  the  engine  commenced  its  vigo- 
rous revolutions,  and  the  boat,  yielding  to  its 
power,  shot  away  from  the  landing,  and^the  city 
began  to  look  dim  in  the  distance,  did  our  young 
men  feel  at  ease.  Then  they  began  to  breathe 
more  freely. 

Truly  did  they  find  that  "  The  way  of  trans- 


COMPANIONS   IN  EVIL.  119 

gressors  is  hard."  Both  were  of  wealthy  families, 
and  had  their  habits  been  correct  and  their  pur- 
suits honorable,  they  might  have  occupied  good 
positions  in  society,  with  the  possession  of  the 
most  ample  means  for  supplying  all  their  wants. 
And  still  more,  have  had  quiet  consciences,  and 
lived  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  most  enlarged  social 
pleasures.  But  they  chose  to  transgress  both 
moral  and  civil  laws — and  the  penalty  was  visited 
upon  them  in  perpetual  pain  of  mind.  Their  evil 
pursuits,  though  accompanied  with  a  kind  of  in- 
sane delight,  were  ever  succeeded  by  a  fear  of 
consequences,  or  reluctant,  and,  at  times,  invol- 
untary self-upbraidings. 

The  excitement  of  escape,  for  so  they  both  es- 
teemed it,  being  over,  neither  Ware  nor  Handy 
felt  much  inclined  to  enter  into  conversation,  but 
sat  silent  and  thoughtful,  musing  over  past  disap- 
pointments, or  busy  with  plans  for  future  opera- 
tions. The  reader  need  scarcely  be  told  that  they 
were  gamblers  by  profession. 

Toward  evening,  Ware  took  up  a  newspaper 
and  read  until  dark.  Then  he  went  out  upon  the 
guards,  and  commenced  pacing  backward  and 
forward  with  a  quick  step,  that  evinced  more  than 
ordinary  excitement  of  mind.  Handy  joined  him. 
But  few  words  had  passed  between  them,  when 
the  latter  said— 

"  Is  it  not  very  strange  that  your  mother  does 
not  write  to  you  now,  Harry  ?" 

"  I  have  thought  so.  But  the  mystery  is  solved." 

"  In  what  way  ?" 

"  I  see,  by  a  Philadelphia  newspaper,  which  I 
was  looking  over  in  the  cabin,  that  the  old  man 
has  gone  by  the  board." 

"  How  1    Not  dead,  I  hope  1" 

"  No,  not  quite  that.  But  he  might  as  well  be, 
for  he  has  become  a  bankrupt." 


120  BELL  MARTIN. 

"  That 's  bad,  really." 

"  Yes,  bad  for  us,  for  while  there  was  any  thing 
to  be  had,  I  could  drain  a  little  out  of  his  purse ; 
but  that  is  over  now.  There  is  no  getting  blood 
out  of  a  turnip,  you  know." 

"  It  is  some  time  since  you  heard  from  Bell." 

"  Yes.  And  when  I  did  get  a  letter  from  her, 
there  was  not  much  account  in  it.  Only  a  paltry 
hundred  dollar-bill." 

"  Her  father  suspects  the  use  she  makes  of  the 
money  she  gets  from  him." 

"  So  she  hints.  But  I  suppose  she  hasn  't  man- 
aged it  carefully  enough.  These  women  never 
know  how  to  do  any  thing  rightly,"  was  her  hus- 
band's unfeeling  remark. 

"We  are  beginning  to  be  pretty  hard  run. 
Luck  seems  all  going  against  us,"  rejoined  Handy, 
after  a  pause.  "Something  must  be  done  to 
raise  the  wind,  or  we  shall  be  driven  to  the  wall 
at  last." 

"I'm  afraid  it  will  come  to  the  last  resort  I 
have  before  mentioned,"  Ware  replied. 

"  What  is  that  7" 

"  Sending  for  Bell." 

"Will  that  do  any  good 7  Won't  she,  in  fact, 
prove  a  useless  encumbrance  7" 

"  She  will  be  encumbrance  enough,  no  doubt. 
But  we  must  take  the  evil  with  the  good.  That 
old  rascal,  her  father,  loves  her  too  well  to  let  her 
be  any  where  without  a  liberal  supply  of  all  the 
means  necessary  to  her  external  comfort.  If  we 

fet  her  out  here,  money  must,  and  will  follow 
er." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  7" 
"  Morally  certain.    I  know  old  Martin  too  well 
to  doubt  it." 

"  Will  she  leave  her  children,  and  come  to 
you  7" 


COMPANIONS   IN  EVIL.  121 

"  Yes,  with  half  an  invitation.  Almost  every 
letter  I  receive  from  her  is  filled  with  hints  or  open 
requests  for  me  to  say  « come.'  " 

"  We  can  but  try  the  experiment.  But  suppose 
it  fails.  What  will  you  do  with  Bell !" 

'  What  would  you  do  with  her  V 

1  She  is  your  wife."  « 

'  I  know.    But  suppose  she  were  your  wife  1" 

'  I  would  put  her  in  the  way  of  getting  back 
again  to  her  children  in  double  quick  time." 

'  But  suppose  she  would  n't  go  1" 

'  Then  I  would  leave  her  to  stay  or  go,  as  she 
liked,  while  I  journeyed  elsewhere." 

"  My  own  views,  precisely,"  was  the  heartless 
response  of  Ware. 

That  evening,  and  a  portion  of  the  next  day, 
were  passed  by  the  two  young  men  in  the  busi- 
ness of  studying  the  characters,  and  ascertaining, 
as  far  as  possible,  the  length  of  the  purses  of  the 
different  passengers  on  board  the  Gulnare.  These 
settled  to  their  satisfaction,  as  far  as  it  was  possi- 
ble for  them  to  settle  such  matters,  the  next  thing 
was  to  introduce  cards  in  a  way  that  would  create 
no  suspicion  as  to  their  real  design.  This  was 
done  on  the  second  evening,  and  several  hours 
spent  in  play,  during  which  the  loss  and  gain  were 
but  trifling. 

On  the  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  cards 
were  again  resumed,  and  rather  more  skill  dis- 
played than  on  the  evening  previous.  Still,  our 
young  men  found  themselves  well  matched,  and 
the  tide  of  success,  if  at  all  in  their  favor,  scarcely 
perceptible. 

Among  the  passengers  was  a  young  man  en- 
trusted with  a  large  sum  of  money,  which  was  to 
be  paid  over  to  a  mercantile  house  at  New  Or- 
leans on  his  arrival  there.  Being  a  good  player, 
he  prided  himself  on  his  skill  at  cards,  and  was 
11 


122  BELL   MARTIN. 

much  flattered  at  his  success  while  engaged  with 
Ware,  who,  finding  himself  losing  steadily  at  al- 
most every  game,  was  roused  to  more  energetic 
efforts.  Nearly  the  whole  of  the  third  day  had 
been  spent  in  playing,  and  as  night  drew  on,  both 
Ware  and  Handy  found  themselves,  instead  of 
winners,  almost  entirely  stripped  of  their  slender 
stock  of  money. 

After  supper,  they  held  a  long  conference  to- 
gether out  upon  the  guards,  and  then  went  to  the 
bar  and  drank  pretty  freely.  As  they  entered  the 
cabin  again,  the  young  man  who  had  been  so  suc- 
cessful during  that  and  the  preceding  day,  met 
them  at  the  door,  and  said  to  Ware — • 

"Well,  stranger,  what  say  you  to  another 
heat  r 

"  Ready,"  was  the  brief  reply,  and  then  the  two 
sat  down,  while  Handy  threw  himself  into  a  care- 
less position  near  the  young  man,  so  that  he 
could,  if  he  chose,  read  his  hand  at  a  glance,  with- 
out much  danger  of  detection. 

The  first  stake  was  ten  dollars.  As  the  cards 
fell  one  after  the  other  upon  the  table,  the  game 
showed  evidently  in  favour  of  the  gambler,  and 
terminated  on  his  side. 

"  Double  the  stake,"  was  the  brief  remark  of 
the  young  man,  as  he  threw  down  a  twenty  dollar 
bill. 

The  gambler  matched  it  in  silence.  This  game, 
like  the  first,  resulted  in  favor  of  Ware. 

"Double  again,"  said  the  loser,  laying  down 
forty  dollars. 

"  Double  it  is,"  responded  Ware,  mechanically, 
suiting  the  action  to  the  words. 

The  stranger  played  now  with  care  and  delibe- 
ration. But  his  skill  was  in  vain.  The  stakes  were 
soon  appropriated  by  his  opponent. 


COMPANIONS   IN   EVIL.  123 

"  Double,"  fell  from  his  lips  in  a  firm  tone,  as 
this  result  followed  his  more  earnest  effort  to  win. 

"Double,  of  course,"  was  answered  with  an  air 
of  confidence. 

Many  of  the  passengers,  who  had  looked  on  at 
first  carelessly,  now  began  to  note  the  contest  with 
a  livelier  interest,  gathering  around  the  table  and 
watching  each  card  that  was  played,  and  calcu- 
lating the  result  of  every  game,  which  regularly 
terminated  as  the  first  had  done.  Each  time  the 
stakes  were  doubled,  until,  finally,  they  rose  to 
twenty  thousand  dollars  on  each  side.  A  breath- 
less interest  pervaded  the  little  group  of  spectators 
eagerly  watching  the  result  of  the  game  that  was 
to  assign  to  one  party  or  the  other  the  large 
sum  so  madly  risked  by  the  infatuated  young 
man.  As  before,  the  cards  came  up  in  favor  of 
Ware. 

"  Double,"  was  the  hoarse  response  to  this,  and 
again  the  contest  was  renewed.  Forty  thousand 
dollars  on  each  side  now  gave  to  both  a  strong 
incentive  to  note  well  each  card  before  it  left  the 
hand.  Among  the  spectators  of  this  exciting 
scene,  none  seemed  so  little  concerned  as  the 
companion  of  Ware,  who  stood  obliquely  oppo- 
site, and  occasionally  cast  toward  him  a  look  of 
indifference. 

A  few  minutes  of  breathless  interest  passed,  and 
the  game  terminated  as  before.  The  face  of  the 
loser  grew  pale,  but  he  rallied  himself  instantly, 
drew  forth  a  package  of  money,  and  throwing  it 
upon  the  table,  said  in  a  firm  voice — 

"  Double." 

Half  whispered  expressions  of  surprise  passed 
through  the  little  group  at  this,  and  one  of  them 
moved  off  quietly  and  left  the  cabin.  In  about  a 
minute  he  returned  with  the  Captain,  who  took 
his  place  among  the  spectators,  and  silently 


124 


BELL   MARTIN, 


awaited  the  result  of  the  game.  It  was  played  on 
both  sides  with  great  care  and  deliberation,  but 
there  were  odds  against  the  young  man  with 
which  it  was  folly  to  contend.  When  the  last 
card  was  thrown  upon  the  table,  it  showed  the 
game  to  have  terminated  as  the  rest. 

Following  this  was  an  instantaneous  gesture  of 
despair,  and  a  motion  to  spring  from  the  table  by 
the  loser,  when  his  eye  caught  a  most  unexpected 
movement  in  the  Captain  of  the  steamboat,  who 
had  sprung  forward,  and  grasped  in  both  hands 
the  heavy  stakes,  amounting  to  about  one  hundred 
and  sixty  thousand  dollars.  As  he  did  this,  Han- 
dy jumped  across  the  table,  and,  uttering  a  most 
bitter  imprecation,  seized  the  Captain  by  the 
throat.  A  general  scene  of  confusion  followed, 
which  ended  in  the  passengers  all  taking  sides 
with  the  Captain  against  Ware  and  Handy,  who 
made  attempts  to  use  both  knives  and  pistols,  but 
were  prevented.  Several  of  the  deck  hands  were 
then  called  in,  and  the  two  men  secured.  Follow- 
ing this  came  a  jury  of  passengers,  called  by  the 
Captain,  to  inquire  into  the  whole  proceeding  that 
had  ended  so  disastrously  to  the  foolish  young  man. 
who  had  been  induced  to  risk  money  that  was 
not  his  own.  Two  individuals  testified,  positive- 
ly, that  they  had  observed  Handy,  or  Haines,  as 
he  had  booked  himself,  make  signs  of  various 
kinds  to  his  companion,  during  the  progress  of 
every  game — and  that  his  position  was  not  only 
such  as  to  give  him  a  sight  of  the  young  man's 
hand,  but  that  he  had,  after  every  deal,  been  seen 
stealthily  glancing  towards  his  cards. 

Fully  satisfied  as  to  their  guilt,  the  Captain  re- 
stored to  the  young  man  the  heavy  sum  he  had 
lost,  with  a  word  of  advice  as  to  future  operations. 
He  then  went  out,  and  remained  about  five  mi- 


COMPANIONS  IN  EVIL.  225 

nutes.  When  he  came  in,  he  was  followed  by 
four  stout  men— deck  hands. 

"  There  they  are,"  he  said,  pointing  to  Ware 
and  Handy,  who  were  seated  in  the  cabin  with 
their  arms  pinioned  behind  them.  "  Let  them  be 
put  on  shore  at  once." 

"  Not  at  night,  Captain  ]"  one  of  the  passengers 
said. 

"  Yes,  sir,  at  night.  I  never  allow  a  gambling 
swindler  to  remain  on  board  the  Gulnare  more 
than  ten  minutes,  after  I  have  found  him  out,  day 
or  night.  The  boat  is  now  running  as  near  to  the 
shore  as  possible.  Come,  move  quick,  my  gentle- 
men !" 

Two  stout  fellows,  at  each  side,  left  little  room 
for  resistance.  In  a  few  minutes,  the  companions 
in  evil  were  hurried  over  the  side  of  the  boat,  and 
rowed  quickly  to  the  shore.  There  they  were 
left,  with  their  baggage.  It  was  near  the  hour  of 
midnight — the  sky  heavily  overcast  with  clouds, 
and  they  perfectly  unacquainted  with  the  country 
aroundvthem,  or  its  relation  to  known  places.  As 
the  boat,  which  had  conveyed  them  to  the  shore, 
shot  back  to  the  steamer,  and  she  moved  off  and 
became  soon  lost  to  view,  they  shrunk  closer  to- 
gether— while  a  sudden  fear  passed  over  them 
with  an  icy  shudder. 

They  had  stood  irresolute  for  nearly  five  mi- 
nutes, when  a  low  growl,  and  a  slight  movement 
in  the  under  brush,  caused  the  hair  of  each  to 
rise.  Two  bright  eye-balls  were  next  seen  glis- 
tening within  a  few  feet  of  them.  Handy's  pre- 
sence of  mind  prompted  him  to  draw  a  pistol  and 
fire.  A»loud  howl  of  pain  followed  the  report,  an- 
swered by  a  dozen  responses  in  various  direc- 
tions near  and  more  remote,  which  told  the  fear- 
ful tale  that  they  were  surrounded  by  wolves. 

"  We  must  kindle  a  fire  as  quickly  as  possible," 
11* 


126  BELL   MARTIN. 

whispered  Handy,  in  a  hoarse  voic«,  and  following 
the  word  by  the  action,  poured  a  little  powder  into 
his  pistol  and  pressed  in  loosely  some  paper. 
Then  he  drew  a  whole  newspaper  from  his  pocket 
and  fired  the  pistol  into  it.  In  a  moment  or  two 
it  was  in  a  blaze.  Leaves,  small  twigs,  and  pieces 
of  dry  wood  were  added  to  this,  and  soon  a  bright 
fire  was  lighting  up  the  dark  and  gloomy  forest, 
but  rendering  darker  and  denser  "the  black  ob- 
scurity beyond  the  small  circle  of  their  vision.  By 
feeding  this  fire  all  night,  they  kept  themselves 
safe  from  prowling  wild  beasts.  Morning  at  last 
broke,  and  soon  after  they  were  taken  off  by 
another  steamboat,  and  conveyed  to  the  place 
for  which  they  had  at  first  set  out.  During  the 
remainder  of  the  voyage,  they  felt  little  inclined  to 
look  at  a  card,  much  less  to  handle  one. 

On  arriving  at  New  Orleans,  they  found  an  ac- 
count in  the  newspapers,  of  the  affray  hinted  at  as 
having  occurred  at  Natchez,  with  themselves  de- 
scribed as  the  principal  actors  in  it,  and  a  reward 
for  their  apprehension.  The  young  man,  who 
had  been  stabbed  by  Handy,  had  since  died. 
Their  assumed  disguise  it  was  now  rendered  ne- 
cessary to  retain,  and  they  also  felt  it  prudent  to 
forsake  old  haunts  and  seek  new  ones.  The  un- 
expected termination  of  affairs  on  board  the  Gul- 
nare  had  chagrined  and  disappointed  them  severe- 
ly—more especially,  as  it  left  them  almost  penni- 
less. 

On  the  second  day  of  their  return,  Ware  receiv- 
ed a  letter  from  his  wife.  It  ran  thus : 

"  MY  DEAR  HUSBAND,— Do  not  think  that  I  am  to 
blame  because  this  letter  contains  no  money. 
Father  not  only  suspects  the  fact  of  my  having 
been  in  the  habit  of  sending  you  supplies  of  cash, 
but  has  made  himself  so  certain  of  it,  in  some  way, 


COMPANIONS   IN  EVIL.  127 

that  he  no  longer  entrusts  me  with  any — telling 
me,  when  I  ask  for  money,  to  go  and  purchase 
what  I  want,  and  have  the  bills  sent  to  him.  I 
have  delayed  writing  for  some  time,  in  the  hope 
that  I  might  be  able  to  get  something  for  you,  but 
I  have  delayed  in  vain.  But  you  say  that  your 
business  begins  to  prosper,  and  that  you  are  much 
encouraged  in  looking  ahead.  How  glad  I  am  of 
this — and  for  two  reasons.  One  is,  because  you 
will  not  need,  and  therefore  not  feel,  in  a  very 
short  time,  the  withdrawal  of  the  little  assistance 
I  have  been  able  to  render  you ;  and  the  other  is, 
because  I  see  reason  to  promise  myself  a  speedy 
restoration  to  your  arms.  O,  Henry,  you  do  not 
know  how  earnestly  I  desire  to  see  your  face. 
You  fill  all  my  waking  thoughts,  and  my  dreams 
at  night.  Why  do  you  not  say 'come?'  How 
quickly,  were  that  word  uttered,  would  I  leave  all, 
and  fly  to  you !  Leave  all ! — Alas  !  how  can  I 
leave  my  dear  little  ones?  My  heart  grows  faint 
when  I  think  of  it.  But  why  should  I  hesitate  1 
I  shall  leave  them  surrounded  by  every  circum-  ' 
stance  that  can  minister  to  their  happiness ;  and 
they  will  soon  forget  their  mother.  The  greater 
pain  will  be  mine,  not  theirs.  My  desire  to  linger 
with  them  is  a  selfish  one.  Duty  calls  me  to  my 
husband's  side.  Deeply  do  I  feel  this.  Let  me 
come,  then,  Henry!  Do  write  to  me,  and  say 
*  come !' 

Ever  yours,  BELL." 


128  BELL   MARTIN. 

CHAPTER  XYIH. 

A    RASH   STEP. 

ABOUT  one  month  from  the  day  Bell  wrote  to 
her  husband,  she  received  the  following  answer : 

"  DEAR  BELL, — Your  last  has  been  received,  and 
I  at  once  respond  to  your  desire  and  say  *  come.* 
Since  I  wrote  to  you,  my  business  has  improved 
a  little,  and  I  feel  encouraged  to  hope  for  success. 
I  cannot,  however,  leave  New  Orleans  for  the  pur- 
pose of  meeting  you  at  Baltimore,  or  any  inter- 
mediate place.  You  will  have  to  come  alone. 
Can  you  venture  to  do  so?  I  think  you  may. 
Go  to  Baltimore,  and  there  take  passage  for 
Wheeling.  At  that  place  you  can  go  on  board 
of  some  boat  bound  for  Louisville,  from  whence 
you  will  come  directly  here  by  the  same  mode 
of  conveyance.  Write  me  from  Louisville,  a  day 
or  two  before  you  leave  there,  and  mention  the 
boat  in  which  you  intend  taking  passage,  so 
that  I  can  meet  you  on  your  arrival.  I  feel  very 
anxious  to  see  you.  Many  happy  days,  I  trust, 
are  in  store  for  us.  In  the  hope  of  soon  looking 
upon  your  dear  face,  I  now  say  farewell.  Come 
quickly. 

Truly  and  affectionately  yours, 

HENRY." 

Bell  read  this  letter  over  and  over  again,  linger- 
ing upon  each  passage  in  which  she  could  find  a 
tender  allusion  to  herself,  and  treasuring  up  the 
words  as  precious.  While  still  holding  it  in  her 
hand,  two  little  children  came  bounding  playfully 


A   RASH   STEP.  129 

into  the  room,  and  ran  up  to  her  side.  One,  the 
eldest,  was  a  bright  boy,  over  whom  six  summers 
had  passed  pleasantly ;  the  other  was  a  girl,  with 
mild,  pleasant  eyes,  and  a  sweet  young  face,  on 
which  smiles  played  as  often  as  ripples  over  the 
yielding  surface  of  a  quiet  lake.  As  they  stood  by 
her,  looking  up  into  her  countenance,  their  eyes 
sparkling  with  filial  confidence  and  affection,  the 
thought  of  leaving  them  made  her  waver  in  her 
purpose. 

"  Why  not  take  them  with  me  1"  she  asked  her- 
self, almost  involuntarily. 

"  No — no — no !"  was  the  instant  reply  to  this. 
"  I  have  no  right  to  remove  them  from  a  happy 
home,  for  one,  by  myself,  all  untried,  and  which 
may  prove,  even  to  me,  a  place  of  privation  and 
wretchedness.  No — no — no  !  Here  they  must 
and  shall  remain.  And  I  must  go.  Duty  and 
affection  call  me,  and  I  cannot  disregard  the  sum- 
mons, nor  linger  in  dread  of  the  violent  pangs  that 
must  attend  my  separation  from  these  dearly  be- 
loved and  treasured  ones." 

Stooping  down,  and  kissing  each  of  her  children 
with  fervent  tenderness,  and  dropping,  in  spite  of 
herself,  a  tear  upon  each  fair  young  cheek,  she 
bade  them  return  to  their  plays,  when  they  bound- 
ed off,  as  light  and  gay  as  birds  in  the  pleasant 
sunshine. 

"Happy  creatures!"  she  murmured,  as  they 
vanished  from  her  presence.  "  Once  I  was  like 
you.  Heaven  grant  that  you  may  never  be  like 
me !" 

For  nearly  an  hour  after  the  children  had  gone 
out,  did  Bell  sit,  in  d,eep  and  anxious  thought.  At 
the  end  of  that  period  she  arose,  with  a  "hurried 
movement,  as  if  the  decision  on  a  long  debated 
course  of  action  had  been  made,  and  putting  on 
her  bonnet  and  shawl,  left  the  house,  without 


130  BELL   MARTIN. 

mentioning  to  any  one  her  intention  of  going  out. 
In  half  an  hour  she  entered  the  house  of  Mary 
Lane. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Bell,"  was  Mary's 
affectionate  greeting,  kissing,  as  she  spoke,  the 
cheek  of  her  afflicted  friend.  For  years,  their  in- 
tercourse had  been  as  equals  and  friends — or, 
rather,  as  sisters,  who  loved  each  other  tenderly. 

"  I  have  an  especial  favor  to  ask  of  you,  Mary," 
said  Bell,  after  she  was  seated.  "  A  favor  such  as 
I  have  never  asked  of  you  before,  and  shall  never 
ask  again.  If  in  your  power,  you  must  not  refuse 
it,  Mary." 

"  I  can  refuse  you  nothing,  Bell.  Speak  your 
request  freely,"  was  Mary's  reply. 

An  embarrassing  pause  of  a  moment  or  two  fol- 
lowed, and  then  Bell  said — 

"  Of  late  my  father  has  refused  to  let  me  have 
any  money  to  use  myself.  If  I  ask  for  it,  he  tells 
me  to  go  and  buy  whatever  I  want,  and  have  the 
bills  sent  to  him." 

"  You  know  the  reason  of  this,  Bell,  and  cannot 
blame  him." 

"I  do  not  blame  him,  Mary;  nor  can  I  expect 
him  under  all  the  circumstances,  to  act  differently. 
But  what  I  wish  to  say  is  this.  I  want,  and  must 
have,  one  hundred  dollars.  If  I  ask  him  for  it,  he 
will,  I  know,  refuse  me,  under  the  belief  that  I 
wish  to  send  it  to  my  husband.  Now,  Mary,  can 
I  get  this  sum  from  you  1" 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Mary  felt  embar- 
rassed by  a  request  from  Bell.  She  had  the  money, 
and  she  knew  that  Bell  was  aware  that  she  had 
then  in  the  house,  in  gold  double  the  sum  asked, 
which  had  been  given  to  her  at  various  times  by 
her  husband.  Not  that  she  valued  the  money  more 
than  she  regarded  Bell's  necessity.  But  she  did 
not  feel  that  it  would  be  right  for  her  to  give  it  for 


A   RASH   STEP.  131 

the  use  of  a  man  like  Henry  Ware,  to  whom  she 
very  naturally  concluded  Bell  wished  to  send  the 
money  she  asked.  While  the  struggle  between  a 
sense  of  duty  and  her  desire  to  meet  Bell's  wishes 
was  going  on  in  her  mind,  Bell  sat  looking  her 
steadily  in  the  face. 

"  And  so  you  are  not  willing  to  grant  my  earnest 
request!"  she  said,  breaking  in  upon  Mary's  silent 
indecision  of  mind. 

"I  will  grant  you  any  thing  in  my  power, 
which  it  is  right  that  I  should  grant,"  replied 
Mary.  "  But  this  I  cannot  do,  unless  you  assure 
me  that  you  will  not  send  the  money  to  Mr. 
Ware." 

"  That  such  a  disposition  will  not  be  made  of 
it,  I  can  most  solemnly  assure  you.  I  want  the 
money  for  my  own  use." 

"  Then  you  shall  have  it  in  welcome,"  was  the 
cheerful,  smiling  reply  of  Mary. 

In  a  little  while  she  left  the  room,  and  returned 
in  a  few  minutes  with  ten  gold  eagles,  which  she 
placed  in  the  hands  of  Bell,  saying,  as  she  did  so, 

"  Take  them  in  welcome.  But  how  much  more 
gladly  would  I  give  them,  if  they  had  the  power  to 
restore  to  you  the  happy  heart  that  once  beat  in 
your  bosom." 

"  That  they  can  never  do — nor  can  any  other 
earthly  means.  Still  the  sum  you  have  so  gen- 
erously placed  in  my  hands,  Mary,  will,  I  trust,  do 
a  great  deal  toward  accomplishing  that  which  you 
and  I  so  much  desire,"  said  Bell,  in  a  tone  some- 
what cheerful. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Bell  ?"  asked  Mary,  in 
surprise. 

"  Can  I  trust  you  with  a  secret  ?" 

"You  have  never  had  cause  to  think  other- 
wise." 


132  BELL   MARTIN. 

"  True.  But  mine  is  a  secret  which  I  do  not 
know  that  even  you  would  feel  bound  to  keep." 

There  was  something  in  the  words,  manner,  and 
expression  of  Bell,  that  inspired  Mary  with  a  feel- 
ing of  sudden  alarm.  For  a  moment  or  two  the 
thought  that  her  mind  was  wandering,  startled  her 
feelings  with  a  sudden  shock.  But  the  steady  eye 
and  calm  countenance  of  Bell  soon  dispelled  the 
impression. 

"  Do  not,"  she  said,  as  her  thoughts  rallied,  and 
she  became  assured  that  Bell  contemplated  some 
act  of  which  all  would  disapprove,  "  let  me  entreat 
you,  act  in  any  important  matter,  without  full  con- 
sultation with  your  friends." 

"  Why  should  I  consult  friends,  Mary,  when  I 
have  resolved  to  do  a  thing  which  no  one,  not 
even  you,  will  approve  ?" 

"  O,  Bell !  Surely  you  do  not  intend  taking 
any  important  step  with  such  injudicious  rash- 
ness." 

"  I  have  fully  made  up  my  mind  to  do  the  thing 
to  which  I  have  alluded,"  was  the  firm  response. 

"  What  is  it,  Bell  ?"  asked  Mary,  imploringly. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  but  upon  one  condition." 

"  What  is  that  1"' 

"  Secrecy." 

•*  Not  knowing  what  you  intend,  I  should  not 
like  to  bind  myself  to  secrecy." 

"  Then  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"Do  not  act  with  such  deliberate  rashness, 
Bell,"  urged  Mary,  drawing  her  arm  tenderly 
about  her" neck,  and  looking  her  earnestly  in  the 
face,  her  own  eyes  suffused  with  tears. 

"  I  have  calmly  counted  the  cost,  Mary."     . 

"  Will  you  not  confide  in  me  1" 

"Not  unless  you  pledge  yourself  to  secrecy." 

"  Then,  as  there  is  "no  other  course,  I  thus 
pledge  myself." 


A    RASH   STEP.  133 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  done  so,  Mary,"  said 
Bell,  in  a  steady  voice,  "  for  I  desire  most  earnest- 
ly to  open  my  heart  to  you,  as  the  only  one 
who  can  now  truly  feel  for  me.  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  to  join  Mr.  Ware  in  New  Orleans.  He 
has—" 

"  Join  Mr.  Ware  in  New  Orleans  !"  ejaculated 
Mary,  staVting  back  in  surprise  and  alarm,  her 
face  growing  pale.  "  Bell,  your  mind  is  wander- 
ing." 

"  I  am  perfectly  sane,  Mary,"  replied  Bell  with 
a  feeble  smile,  "  and  have  calmly  and  rationally 
weighed  the  whole  matter.  My  husband  is  in 
business  in  New  Orleans,  and  has  written  me 
many  kind  and  affectionate  letters,  and  now  asks 
me  to  join  him  there." 

"  And  your  children  1" 

"  I  shall  leave  them  where  they  are,  at  least  for 
the  present.  I  should  not  think  it  right  to  take 
them  away  from  the  comfortable  home  they  now 
have." 

"  You  do  not  contemplate  going  at  once  V' 

"  Yes — I  shall  start  in  a  day  or  two.  There 
are  but  few  preparations  necessary  for  me  to 
make." 

"  Who  will  accompany  you  ?" 

"  I  shall  go  alone." 

"  Alone !  Surely,  Bell,  you  cannot  be  in  your 
right  mind !" 

"  Perhaps  not !"  was  the  low,  mournful  response, 
made  after  a  pause.  "  Would  it  be  any  wonder,  if 
I  were  to  lose  my  senses  T' 

"  Then  why  act  so  rashly,  Bell  ?  Why  delibe- 
rately do  a  thing  that  you  know  all  your  friends 
will  disapprove  1  Trouble  has  obscured  your 
mind,  so  that  you  are  hardly  capable  of  rightly 
deciding  such  a  question  as  is  now  presented  to 
you.  Hesitate,  then — and  let  those  in  whom  you 
12 


134  BELL   MARTIN. 

can  confide,  determine  the  matter  for  you.  Do 
not  jour  father  and  mother  love  you?  Have 
they  not  ever  sought  your  happiness  with  wise 
and  careful  solicitude)  Still  repose  confidence 
in  them.  Go  to  them,  and  tell  them  your  earnest 
desire  to  join  your  husband,  and,  if  such  really 
be  your  resolution,  tell  them,  that  if  they  will 
not  give  their  consent  for  you  to  do  so,  you 
will  have  to  go  without  their  consent.  Then 
you  will  secure  protection  from  your  father,  and 
put  it  in  his  power,  if  you  should  go,  to  shield 
you  from  suffering  and  privation  while  among 
strangers." 

"  I  do  not  expect  suffering  and  privation.  My 
husband  has  greatly  changed,  and  is  now  in  a 
good  business." 

"  So  he  writes  you." 

"  Mary,"  replied  Bell,  in  a  changed  and  some- 
what offended  tone.  "  I  am  not  prepared  to  hear 
any  question  of  my  absent  husband's  sincerity  and 
truth.  I  am  the  party  most  concerned,  and  I  am 
perfectly  willing  to  confide  in  him." 

"  But,  granting  that,  Bell,  you  cannot  be  safe 
from  all  contingencies.  How  much  better  that 
your  father's  care  should  still  be  over  you." 

"  As  I  said  before,  Mary,  I  have  fully  counted 
the  cost,  and  am  prepared  for  the  worst.  I  can- 
not be  more  wretched  with  my  husband,  than  I 
am  away  from  him.  My  father  will  never  give 
his  consent  for  me  to  leave  Philadelphia,  and  there- 
fore I  wish,  above  all  things,  to  shun  the  pain  of 
an  interview  with  him  and  my  mother.  Do  not, 
then,  let  me  beg  of  you,  urge  me  further  on  this 
subject.  I  have  fully  settled  the  matter  in  my 
own  mind,  and,  therefore,  nothing  that  you  can 
possibly  say,  will  have  any  influence  with  me1." 

"  I  must  allude  to  your  children,  Bell,"  urged 


A  RASH   STEP.  135 

the  anxious  Mary.  "  How  can  you  leav$  dear 
Henry  and  Fanny  T' 

"  Do  not  speak  of  them,  Mary !  Do  not  speak 
of  them !"  replied  Bell,  quickly,  and  in  alow,  husky 
whisper.  "I  have  counted  that  cost,  too.  You 
urge  me  in  vain." 

As  she  said  this,  Bell  arose  and  moved  toward 
the  door,  but  paused,  with  an  irresolute  air,  as  she 
placed  her  hand  upon  it,  looking,  as  she  did  so, 
toward  Mary  with  an  expression  of  deep  tender- 
ness, while  her  eyes  grew  dim.  She  remained 
thus  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  returning  to 
where  Mary  still  stood,  she  threw  her  arms  sud- 
denly around  her  neck,  and  let  her  head  droop 
upon  her  bosom.  A  gush  of  tears,  and  a  fit  of 
wild,  uncontrollable  sobbing,  followed.  It  was 
many  minutes  before  this  subsided.  When  she  at 
last  grew  calm,  Bell  drew  her  arms  around  the 
friend  and  companion  of  her  childhood  and  the 
earnest  sympathizer  in  the  sorrows  of  her  maturer 
years,  and  held  her  in  a  long,  strained  embrace. 
At  last  she  looked  up,  with  a  feeble  smile,  mur- 
mured "  God  bless  you,  Mary !"  kissed  her  lips, 
cheeks  and  forehead,  earnestly,  and  then  turning 
away,  hurriedly  left  the  house. 

As  for  Mary,  her  heart  was  burdened  with v  a 
double  weight.  Grief  for  the  rash  step  which  Bell 
was  about  to  take,  and  regret  that  she  had,  unwit- 
tingly, furnished  her  with  the  means  of  taking  that 
step.  And  to  make  it  worse,  was  the  pledge  of 
secrecy  which  had  been  extorted  from  her,  and 
which  she  was  unable  to  decide  whether  she 
should  violate  or  keep. 

"  It  was  late  in  the  evening  before  her  husband 
returned,  to  whom  she  at  once  related  the  sub- 
stance of  her  interview  with  Bell. 

"It  will  never  do  to  let  her  put  her  determi- 


136  BELL   MARTIN. 

nation  into  practice,"  was  Mr.  Lane's  prompt  re- 
mark. 

"  But  I  am  pledged  to  secrecy." 

"  Under  all  the  circumstances,  Mary,  you  should 
not  consider  your  promise  binding." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  so.  Most  gladly  would  I 
avail  myself  of  any  just  plea  for  breaking  it." 

"It  will  fall  upon  me,  I  suppose,  to  relieve 
you  from  all  doubt  and  responsibility  in  this 
matter,"  said  Mr.  Lane,  after  some  moments  of 
reflection. 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  I  shall  feel  it  to  be  my  duty  to  inform  Mr. 
Martin  of  Bell's  intention  so  soon  as  he  comes  to 
the  store,  to-morrow  morning.  Have  you  any 
objection  to  my  doing  so  1" 

"  None  in  the  world,"  was  Mary's  reply. 

But  Mr.  Lane's  good  resolution  was  put  into 
practice  too  late.  Before  Mr.  Martin  came  down 
to  the  store  the  next  morning,  Bell  had  been 
missed,  and,  on  looking  into  her  room,  a  letter 
was  found  upon  her  table,  announcing  to  her 
father  and  mother  the  distressing  intelligence 
that  she  had  left  them  to  follow  her  husband. 
Before  they  had  time  to  recover  from  this  shock, 
and  to  determine  what  course  to  pursue,  a  letter 
from  Fanny's  husband,  in  New  York,  brought  the 
melancholy  tidings  of  her  dangerous  illness,  and  a 
request  that  her^  father,  mother  and  sister  would 
come  on  immediately  if  they  hoped  to  see  her 
alive.  Whether  to  go  in  pursuit  of  Bell,  or  to  re- 
pair to  New  York,  was  a  question  which  agitated 
Mr.  Martin's  mind  only  for  a  short  time,  when  he 
determined  on  the  latter  course,  resolving,  how- 
ever, that  as  soon  as  he  could  return,  to  proceed 
at  once  to  New  Orleans,  and  bring  his  daughter 
home. 


A   RASH   STEP.  137 

On  his  arrival,  with  Mrs.  Martin,  in  New  York, 
he  found  that  Fanny  was  lingering  on  the  brink 
of  the  grave.  Five  days  did  they  hover  around 
her  bed,  but  all  their  anxious  hopes  were  in  vain. 
She  passed  away  at  the  end  of  that  period,  to  be 
no  more  seen  on  earth. 

On  returning  to  Philadelphia,  other  matters  of 
serious  import  demanded  the  attention  of  Mr 
Martin,  who  was,  in  consequence,  prevented  from 
proceeding  at  once  to  the  South  for  Bell,  as  he 
had  determined. 


12* 


138  BELL   MARTIN. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   HARDEST   TRIAL. 

WHEN  Bell  parted  from  Mary,  it  was  with  the 
resolution  fixed  in  her  mind,  to  put  her  determi- 
nation to  leave  Philadelphia,  into  execution  on  the 
following  morning.  It  had  occurred  to  her,  that 
Mary  would  inform  her  husband  of  her  intended 
journey,  and  that  he  would  feel  himself  bound  to 
communicate  the  fact  to  her  father.  And  it  was  to 
prevent  this  availing  any  thing  toward  detaining 
her,  that  she  resolved  not  to  put  off  her  departure 
for  a  single  day.  This  was  the  reason  why,  in 
parting  from  Mary,  whose  face  she  might  never 
see  again,  she  exhibited  so  much  emotion. 

After  leaving  the  house  of  Mary,  she  hurried 
home,  and  set  about  making  preparations  for  her 
journey.  The  departure  of  the  steamboat  at  the 
early  hour  of  six,  afforded  a  good  opportunity  for 
her  to  get  away  unseen  by  any  of  the  family,  pro- 
vided she  was  unencumbered  with  baggage.  But 
it  would  be  necessary  for  her  to  take  as  many  of 
her  clothes  as  possible ;  and  to  do  so,  at  least  one 
large  trunk  would  be  required.  But  how  this  was 
to  be  removed  from  the  house,  presented  itself  as 
a  serious  difficulty.  Sometimes  she  thought  it 
best  to  tie  up  a  few  articles  of  wearing  apparel 
into  a  compact  bundle,  such  as  she  could  easily 
take  in  her  hand.  But  a  little  reflection  convinced 
her  that  this  would  not  answer.  It  was  very  de- 
sirable, she  felt,  to  be  able  to  pass  along  without 
attracting  particular  attention — and  as  she  would 
have,  necessarily,  to  put  up  frequently  at  public 


THE   HARDEST   TRIAL.  139 

houses,  the  fact  of  her  having  no  trunk,  would  be 
looked  upon  with  more  or  less  suspicion,  and 
might  subject  her  to  unpleasant  incidents.  And 
besides  this,  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  car- 
ry, in  this  way,  a  sufficient  quantity  of  clothing. 
The  trunk  must  be  taken — that  she  fully  deter- 
mined. But  how  it  was  to  be  conveyed  away 
from  the  house,  in  the  morning,  without  being 
seen  by  some  one,  was  more  than  she  could  tell. 

Necessity,  under  all  circumstances,  is  the  mother 
of  inventions.  So  it  proved  in  the  case  of  Bell. 
While  pondering  over  the  difficulty  that  had  pre- 
sented itself,  she  at  last  thought  of  the  gate  at- 
tached to  the  large  yard  and  garden  belonging  to 
the  house,  and  of  the  many  places  for  the  tempo- 
rary concealment  of  a  trunk  which  the  alcoves  in 
the  garden  afforded.  Soon  after  this  occurred  to 
her,  she  had  her  plan  of  proceeding  matured — 
which  was  this.  After  the  servants  and  all  had 
retired  for  the  night,  she  would  get  a  large  empty 
trunk,  and  carry  it  out  into  the  garden  near  the 
gate,  which  opened,  on  to  a  small  back  street. 
Then  she  would  take  her  clothes  down  in  bundles, 
moving  with  a  noiseless  tread,  and  pack  into  the 
trunk  as  many  of  them  as  it  would  hold.  Ail  this 
was  accomplished  in  the  most  perfect  silence  and 
secrecy,  and  the  well-filled  trunk  left  concealed 
near  the  gate.  Her  plan  was  to  steal  out  into  the 
garden  as  soon  as  it  was  daylight,  and  passing 
from  the  gate,  procure  a  porter,  and  have  her 
trunk  removed  before  any  one  should  be  stirring 
in  the  house. 

When  all  these  preliminary  arrangements  were 
completed,  Bell  retired  to  her  bed,  after  having 

Eenned  a  hurried  note  to  her  father  and  mother, 
ut  not  to  sleep.     By  her  side  lay  her  two  chil- 
dren, about  to  be  forsaken  by  their  mother.     Into 
their  innocent  faces,  beautified  by  calm  and  holy 


140  BELL   MARTIN. 

sleep,  she  would  look  often,  and  for  many  minutes 
at  a  time,  bending  over  them,  and  almost  holding 
her  breath,  lest  they  should  be  awakened,  and  only 
removing  from  her  position  to  prevent  the  warm 
tears  that  were  dimming  her  eyes  from  falling 
upon  their  glowing  cheeks.  At  times,  the  mother's 
love  ruled  so  strongly  in  her  mind,  that  it  seemed 
as  if  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  part  with 
them.  Then  she  would  picture  to  her  imagina- 
tion their  disappointment  at  not  seeing  her  as 
usual  when  they  awoke  in  the  morning;  their 
grief  at  being  told  that  she  had  gone  away  from, 
them,  no  more  to  return — and  the  drooping  of 
their  young  hearts,  as  day  after  day  went  by,  and 
the  voice  they  had  loved  so  from  infancy,  and  the 
smile  that  had  been  the  sunlight  of  their  spirits  no 
more  greeted  them.  This  was  her  sorest  trial  and 
it  had  the  effect  more  than  once  to  cause  her  to 
hesitate.  But  other  thoughts  and  other  affections 
soon  came  back  with  a  power  that  could  not  be 
controlled. 

Toward  daylight,  she  sunk  into  a  state  of  half 
unconsciousness,  that  was  neither  wakefulness 
nor  sleep.  From  this  a  horrible  phantasy  of  the 
imagination  startled  her,  and  she  awoke,  uttering 
a  stifled  scream.  As  her  scattered  thoughts  re- 
turned, and  she  was  enabled  to  realize  the  truth 
of  her  condition,  she  perceived  that  the  day  was 
beginning  to  dawn.  Now  had  come  the  hour  of 
severe  trial — the  most  painful,  she  felt  in  her  life — 
for  it  involved  deliberate  action  on  her  part,  that 
would  be  condemned  by  all ;  and  more  than  that 
— the  severing  and  lacerating  of  the  most  tender 
and  sacred  bonds. 

Hastily  rising,  and  endeavoring  to  force  back 
the  thoughts  and  affections  that  pleaded  eagerly 
with  her  to  pause,  she  proceeded  in  the  comple- 
tion of  her  few  last  sad  arrangements  for  parting, 


THE   HARDEST   TRIAL.  141 

perhaps  for  ever,  from  her  children  and  parents, 
and  all  the  associations  that  a  whole  life-time  had 
endeared  to  her.  These  completed,  she  threw  a 
cloak  over  her  shoulders,  drew  a  bonnet  on  her 
head,' and  taking  a  small  bundle  in  her  hand,  made 
a  movement  to  leave  the  room,  without  a  last  look 
at  her  children.  This  she  was  endeavoring,  pur- 
posely, to  avoid,  for  she  felt  herself  unequal  to  the 
trial.  But  the  mother's  heart  was  strong  within 
ner  bosom.  She  could  not  thus  leave  them.  A 
powerful  arm  seemed  restraining  her.  There  was 
a  pause — a  hesitating  moment — and  then  she 
slowly  turned  and  went  to  the  bed  on  which  her 
children  lay,  still  hushed  in  gentle  sleep.  Pushing 
back  her  bonnet,  she  bent  down  over  them,  rest- 
ing her  arm  upon  the  pillow  that  supported  both 
their  heads,  and  her  own  head  upon  her  hand, 
where  she  remained  for  many  minutes,  gazing 
sadly  and  tenderly  into  their  faces,  unable  to  tear 
herself  away. 

The  sound  of  footsteps  along  the  passage 
aroused  her  from  this  state  of  irresolution,  or 
rather  paralization  of  mind,  to  a  consciousness  of 
the  danger  that  threatened  to  defeat  her  cautiously 
laid  plans.  This  enabled  her  to  break  the  spell 
that  bound  her  to  the  spot  where  lay  the  dear 
treasures  of  an  almost  broken  heart.  Closing  her 
eyes,  in  order  to  shut  out  for  a  moment,  their 
images  from  her  mind,  she  arose  from  her  position 
on  the  bed,  and  stepped  quickly  to  the  door,  where 
she  stood  listening  to  the  sound  that  had  awaken- 
ed her  fears,  until  it  died  away  in  a  distant  part 
of  the  house.  Fearful  of  trusting  herself  to  look 
again  at  her  children,  though  her  heart  pleaded 
earnestly  for  one  more  glance,  she  opened  her 
chamber  door,  stepped  oul>  softly,  and  then  hur- 
ried along  the  passages  and  down  the  stairs  with  a 
noiseless  tread,  Until  she  reached  the  door  leading 


142  BELL  MARTIN. 

into  the  yard.  This  she  found  locked,  indicating 
that  no  one  had  yet  gone  from  the  house  in  that 
direction.  Opening  this  door  in  silence,  and  softly 
closing  it  after  her,  she  glided  quickly  away  from 
the  house,  entering  an  alley  thickly  shaded  with 
vines,  so  as  to  be  concealed  from  the  observation 
of  any  one  who  might  have  chanced  to  be  looking 
from  a  window. 

Her  trunk  was  found  where  she  had  left  it  the 
night  before.  Passing  from  the  gate,  and  entering 
the  street  upon  which  it  opened,  she  was  not  long 
in  finding  a  man  who  agreed  to  carry  her  baggage 
to  the  steamboat.  With  him  she  returned,  and 
succeeded  in  getting  her  trunk  off,  unseen  by  any 
member  of  her  father's  family.  A  hurried  walk 
brought  her  to  the  landing.  It  was  about  half  an 
hour  before  the  time  for  starting,  and  the  passen- 
gers were  beginning  to  arrive.  The  sight  of  so 
many  persons,  old  and  young,  male  and  female, 
rapidly  assembling,  awoke  in  her  mind  a  new 
source  of  uneasiness.  She  dreaded  to  lift  her  eyes 
to  each  newly  arriving  face,  lest  it  should  reveal 
one  perfectly  familiar.  Nor  were  her  fears,  on  this 
score,  in  vain.  Before  the  boat  started,  two  or 
three  ladies  with  whom  she  was  on  terms  of  social 
intimacy,  came  on  board,  and  took  their  places  in 
the  cabin  near  where  she  was  sitting.  This 
caused  her  to  shrink  away  in  order  to  avoid  ob- 
servation, while  she  drew  the  folds  of  a  thick  veil 
closer  to  her  face.  She  was  not  fully  successful 
in  her  efforts  to  avoid  observation,  as  she  per- 
ceived by  the  frequent  glances  of  inquiry  and  in- 
terest that  were  cast  toward  her.  Once,  during 
the  passage  down  the  Delaware,  she  noticed  a 
lady  who  was  a  very  intimate  and  beloved  friend, 
after  gazing  upon  her  for  some  time,  rise  from  her 
seat  and  come  toward  her.  For  a  moment  or 
two,  her  heart  paused  in  its  labored  pulsations. 


THE  HARDEST  TRIAL.  143 

But  the  lady  either  changed  her  mind,  or  had  not 
intended  addressing  her,  for  she  passed  by,  seem- 
ingly on  an  errand  to  another  part  of  the  cabin. 
This  warned  her  to  shun  observatioti  still  more, 
which  she  did  by  taking  a  volume  from  one  of 
the  berths,  and  bending  down  low  over  it,  as  if 
deeply  absorbed  in  its  contents.  But  how  far- 
away from  the  unseen  pages  of  that  book,  whose 
very  title  was  all  unread  by  her,  were  her  thoughts 
and  affections !  These  were  not  going  eagerly 
before,  but  returning  back  toward  the  dear  little 
ones  she  had  forsaken.  How  vividly  was  each 
gentle  face  pictured  before  her !  Not  camly  re- 
posing in  sleep,  as  when  last  she  looked  upon 
them,  but  bathed  in  grief  for  her  loss. 

Each  passing  minute,  as  the  body  was  borne 
farther  and  farther  away  from  her  children,  her 
spirit  was  drawn  nearer,  while  her  heart  yearned 
over  them  with  an  interest  that  was  intensely 
painful.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  she  could  re- 
frain from  uttering  aloud — 

"  My  children !  my  children  !  Treasures  of  my 
heart !  How  can  I  give  you  up  ]" 

Words  of  lamentation,  that  were  repeated  over 
and  over  again,  in  silence  and  in  bitterness  of 
spirit. 

But  onward,  steadily  and  rapidly,  progressed 
the  boat  that  bore  her  away,  increasing,  each 
moment,  the  distance  between  herself  and  her 
forsaken  home — and  making  sadder,  and  oppress- 
ing with  intense  pain,  the  heart  already  too  heav- 
ily burdened. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  excitement  of  the 
journey — nothing  in  the  hurried  changes  from 
boat  to  land  carriage  and  from  land  carriage  to 
boat  again,  that  could  win  her  mind,  even  for  a 
moment,  away  from  its  sad  visions  of  home. 

In  Baltimore,  under  the  assumed  name  of  John- 


144  BELL   MARTIN. 

son,  she  took  lodgings  at  the  City  Hotel,  where 
she  spent  the  night — a  night,  the  first  ever  passed 
away  from  her  children — a  night  never  after  for- 
gotten. Ne%d  a  mother  be  told  why  it  was  to  her 
one  of  bitter  agony  1  Only  a  mother's  heart  can 
realize  a  mother's  sufferings,  thus  separated  from 
her  children  !  On  the  following  morning  she  left 
Baltimore  for  Wheeling,  in  the  fast  line,  and  tra- 
velled night  and  day  until  she  reached  the  banks 
of  the  Ohio.  At  \Vfreeling  she  took  passage  on 
board  of  a  steamboat  for  Louisville,  as  directed  by 
her  husband.  Four  days  spent  in  reaching  the 
last  named  place,  seemed  to  her  like  four  weeks 
— so  eager  was  she  to  get  to  the  end  of  her 
entire  journey,  and  once  more  look  upon  the  face 
that  had  been  hid  from  her  for  three  long  weary 
years. 

From  Louisville,  she  wrote  a  hasty  letter  to  her 
husband,  and  two  days  after  she  had  despatched 
it,  she  started  for  New  Orleans.  Seven  days  more 
passed  lingeringly  away  before  her  long  and  fa- 
tigueing  journey  was  completed.  It  was  midnight 
when  the  heavy  rumbling  and  jarring  of  the  ma- 
chinery ceased,  and  the  shrill,  nerve-thrilling 
shriek  of  the  escaping  steam  told  that  the  boat  had 
arrived  at  the  Crescent  City.  Hurriedly  rising 
from  her  berth,  Mrs.  Ware  dressed  herself  with  all 
possible  speed,  expecting  each  moment  to  hear  her 
name  called.  But  the  servant  passed  in  and  out, 
conveying  a  message  to  this  lady  and  to  that ;  but 
no  inquiry  came  for  her.  "  Surely  he  must  be 
here !"  she  said  to  herself!  But  it  seemed  that  it 
was  not  so.  For  time  passed  steadily  away,  and 
passenger  after  passenger  left  the  boat,  but  no 
voice  asked  for  her.  At  last  the  cold,  sad,  grey 
light  of  the  morning  began  to  break,  and  Mrs. 
Ware  went  out  upon  the  guards,  and  strained  her 
eyes  through  the  yet  undispersed  mists  of  the 


THE  HARDEST   TRIAL.  145 

night,  to  see  if  she  could  not  recognize  her  hus- 
band among  the  few  forms  dimly  seen  upon  the 
shore.  But  she  looked  in  vain.  Slowly  and  al- 
most imperceptibly  was  the  morning  twilight  dis- 
persed, revealing  at  each  moment  more  and  more 
distinctly  the  strange  appearances,  forms  and  faces 
of  a  strange  city.  The  few  slowly  moving  figures 
that  first  met  her  eye,  passing  to  and  fro  in  the 
misty  air  like  wandering  spirits,  had  given  place 
to  a  crowd  of  human  beings,  some  surveying  with 
idle  curiosity  the  newly  arrived  steamer — others 
hurrying  on  board  with  expectant  faces,  eager  to 
meet  some  looked-for  friend,  wife,  sister  or  bro- 
ther— while  others  went  steadily  by,  scarcely  cast- 
ing a  glance  at  the  stately  vessel. 

Among  all  these  did  Bell  search,  with  anxious 
eyes,  for  her  husband.  Sometimes  her  heart 
would  bound  and  flutter,  as  afar  off  some  new 
form  became  revealed,  the  bearing  of  which  seem- 
ed so  like  her  husband,  that  she  could  hardly  help 
striking  her  hands  together,  and  exclaiming  aloud, 
"It  is  he!"  But  as  that  form  drew  nearer  and 
nearer,  its  resemblance  to  her  husband  gradually 
faded,  until  her  e3'es  turned  disappointed  away 
from  a  face  all  unfamiliar.  Thus  did  the  anxious 
wife  stand  leaning  over  the  guards,  eager  and  ex- 
pectant for  nearly  three  hours,  when  she  was 
obliged  from  faintness  to  retire  to  the  cabin,  and 
seek  a  berth,  where  she  lay  for  nearly  two  hours 
longer,  in  momentary  expectation  of  hearing  the 
sound  of  her  husband's  voice. 

At  last,  through  the  kind  suggestions  and  direc- 
tions of  the  female  servant  attached  to  the  boat, 
Bell  concluded  to  go  to  a  respectable  hotel,  mark- 
ing on  the  books  of  the  steamboat,  opposite  to  the 
entry  of  her  name,  the  house  to  which  she  had 
gone,  so  that  her  husband  could  find  her  when  he 
learned  the  arrival  of  the  boat. 
13 


146  BELL  MARTIN. 

As  soon  as  she  had  made  this  change,  she  asked 
the  servant  in  attendance  at  her  room  at  the  hotel, 
to  bring  her  a  late  newspaper.  Over  this  she 
looked  eagerly,  hoping,  yet  fearing  to  hope,  that 
her  eye  might  fall  upon  something  that  would 
give  her  a  clue  by  which  to  find  her  husband. 
Almost  the  first  thing  that  attracted  her  notice 
was  the  list  of  advertised  letters.  In  this  she  un- 
expectedly found  one  for  herself.  Ringing  hur- 
riedly for  a  servant,  she  despatched,  as  soon  as 
her  summons  was  answered,  a  messenger  for  the 
letter.  It  was  full  half  an  hour  before  it  was 
brought,  during  which  time  she  paced  the  floor 
of  her  chamber  in  a  state  of  painful  excitement. 
Hastily  breaking  the  seal,  so  soon  as  the  servant 
who  had  brought  the  letter  had  left  the  room,  she 
read  with  difficulty,  for  her  hand  shook  so  that 
she  could  scarcely  distinguish  a  letter,  the  follow- 
ing note: — 

NEW  ORLEANS, ,  18 — . 

My  dear  Bell — Unexpectedly,  an  entire  change 
'has  taken  place  in  my  circumstances,  and  I  have 
been  obliged  to  leave  New  Orleans  for  Galveston, 
•in  Texas,  before  your  arrival.  Considerations  of 
personal  safety  have  prompted  me  to  take  this 
hasty  step.  I  need  not  allude  to  the  painful  and 
mortifying  cause.  Take  the  steam-packet,  and 
come  here  without  delay.  I  shall  expect  you  by 
•every  new  arrival,  until  I  see  your  long-absent 
but  dear  face.  Do  not  delay  a  moment.  Here  I 
shall  remain,  free  from  molestation,  and  here  be 
able  to  prosecute  without  fear  an  honest  calling. 
Ever  yours,  HENRY. 

The  hand  of  Mrs.  Ware  trembled  so  violently, 
.that  the  letter  fell  to  the  floor  the  moment  she  had 
finished  reading  the  last  word.  O,  what  a  heart- 


THE   HARDEST   TRIAL.  147 

sickening  disappointment  did  its  contents  prove  to 
her !  From  the  momentary  expectation  of  seeing 
him,  to  come  into  the  sudden  consciousness  that 
her  husband  was  still  hundreds  of  miles  away, 
and  that  many  days  must  elapse  before  her  eyes 
would  rest  upon  him,  was  a  painful  shock  to  her 
feelings.  For  a  time  she  felt  weak,  sick  and  ir- 
resolute. Then  her  thoughts  began  to  rally,  and 
she  turned  once  more  to  the  newspaper  from 
which  she  had  gained  intelligence  of  the  letter,  to 
see  if  a  boat  was  up  for  Galveston.  One  was  ad- 
vertised to  go  on  the  next  day.  Her  resolution 
was  at  once  taken  to  avail  herself  of  the  oppor- 
tunity. The  rest  of  the  day  passed  wearily,  and 
the  night  was  spent  in  restless,  feverish,  anxious 
looking  for  the  morning,  with  occasional  brief  pe- 
riods of  unrefreshing  sleep.  —  Morning  at  last 
came.  At  an  early  hour  she  was  on  board  of  the 
steamboat,  where  she  had  to  remain  until  nearly 
night  before  'starting,  tortured  with  eager  impa- 
tience to  be  on  her  way. 


i48  BELL  MARTIN. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A   RE-UNION,   AND   CRUEL  DESERTION. 

AFTER  a  passage  of  many  weary  days,  Mrs. 
Ware  arrived  at  Galveston,  her  last  dollar  expend- 
ed, and  her  heart  trembling  with  fear  lest  some 
new  disappointment  awaited  her.  Happily,  her 
fears  in  this  respect  were  vain.  Her  husband  met 
her  at  the  boat.  The  moment  her  eyes  rested  on 
him,  changed  in  appearance  as  he  was,  and  even 
to  her  sadly  changed  for  the  worse,  she  forgot  the 
circumstances  by  which  she  was  surrounded,  the 
persons  present,  and  all  things  relating  to  the  time 
and  place,  and  flung  herself,  with  a  wild  expres- 
sion of  delight,  into  his  arms. 

To  him,  such  a  public  exhibition  of  affection  was 
any  thing  but  agreeable,  and  he  restrained  and 
checked  her  instantly  with  something  so  icy  cold 
in  his  manner,  that  poor  Bell's  heart  felt  sick  as  it 
had  often,  alas !  too  often  felt  before  when  repelled 
in  like  manner.  Still,  then?  were  expressions  of 
pleasure,  strong  expressions,  at  'seeing  her,  and 
instant  kind  inquiries  as  to  how  she  had  been,  and 
how  she  had  fared  on  her  long  journey.  Then 
came  a  hurried  removal  to  one  of  the  hotels,  where 
she  was  received  into  a  very  comfortable  room, 
which,  by  special  favor,  her  husband  had  obtain- 
ed, in  expectation  of  her  arrival. 

"  Dear— dear  Henry  !"  she  said,  as  soon  as  they 
were  alone,  leaning  her  head  upon  his  shoulders, 
and  bursting  into  tears—"  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
constantly,  for  three  long  years,  my  heart  has 
longed  to  see  your  face— to  hear  your  voice— to 


A   RE-UNION,   AND   CRUEL   DESERTION.  149 

move  once  more  by  your  side.  Thank  heaven ! 
we  are  again  united." 

"  Never,  I  trust,  to  part  again,"  was  the  reply, 
in  an  assumed  tone  of  tenderness. 

"Never — never!"  murmured  Bell.  "For  my- 
self, I  am  ready  to  go  with  you  to  prison  and  to 
death." 

"  How  did  you  leave  our  dear  little  ones,  Bell  ]" 
her  husband  asked,  after  a  few  moments. 

"  Well.  But  oh  !  what  a  trial.  I  wonder  that 
my  heart  did  not  break  in  the  struggle  of  separa- 
tion !  Truly,  mine  is  a  hard  lot !"  And  the  tears 
fushed  forth  afresh.  "  But  may  we  not  hope  one 
ay  to  have  them  with  us,  dear  husband  1" 

"That  time  may  come,  Bell.  But  it  cannot 
come  speedily,"  was  the  reply.  "  Your  father  could 
never  be  induced  to  give  them  up.  And  it  will, 
perhaps,  never  be  in  our  power  to  demand  them. 
But  let  us  not  burden  this  hour  with  thoughts  so 
painful  and  oppressive." 

Then,  after  a  few  moments,  he  asked — 

"  Tell  me,  Bell,  all  about  your  getting  away 
from  Philadelphia,  and  the  particulars  of  your  long 
journey  T" 

In  accordance  with  this  request,  Mrs.  Ware 
gave  her  husband  an  account  of  her  preparations 
for  coming  away,  her  departure,  and  a  history  of 
what  occurred  to  her  during  the  period  that 
elapsed  from  the  time  she  left  Philadelphia,  until 
her  arrival  at  Galveston.  Beginning  with  the  bor- 
rowing of  one  hundred  dollars  from  Mary,  and 
ending  with  an  account  of  the  expenditure  of  her 
last  farthing.  In  the  beginning  and  ending  of  this 
story,  her  husband  felt  the  strongest — indeed,  it 
might  be  said,  the  only  interest.  Deeply  was  he 
disappointed  to  find  that  Bell  was  upon  his  hands, 
penniless,  and  not  at  all  encouraged  from  her  ac- 
counts of  her  father's  state  of  mind,  in  resrard  to 
13* 


150  BELL  MARTIN. 

receiving  any  thing  liberal  from  him,  if,  indeed,  a 
single  dollar  were  to  be  obtained  from  that 
quarter. 

"  And  so  you  have  got  her  out  at  last,"  said  his 
friend  Handy  to  him,  a  few  hours  after,  as  they 
met  in  the  bar-room. 

"  Yes,  and  a  bad  bargain,  I  am  afraid,  it  will 
turn  out  in  the  end,"  was  the  half  angry  reply. 

"  Why  so  1" 

"  She  came  off  with  only  a  hundred  dollars,  and 
had  to  borrow  that.  It  took  every  cent  to  pay  her 
expenses  here." 

"  The  d— 1  you  say !  I  expected  that  she  would 
bring  with  her  at  least  five  hundred  or  a  thousand 
dollars." 

"  So  did  I.  But,  instead  of  that,  she  has  brought 
only  herself,  which  I  could  have  very  well  dis- 
pensed with." 

"  Her  father  will  send  her  money  as  a  matter 
of  course,  so  soon  as  he  learns  that  she  is  here." 

"  I  am  not  by  any  means  certain  of  that.  From 
what  I  can  gather,  he  was  very  angry  when  he 
discovered  that  Bell  sent  me  money,  and  threat- 
ened her  with  his  permanent  displeasure  if  she 
continued  to  write  to  me."  > 

"  You  must  try  and  wheedle  him  out  of  some 
funds  through  her." 

"  That  I  am  afraid,  it  will  be  hard  to  do." 

"  I  am  not  so  certain.  Make  her  believe  that 
you  are  in  business  here,  and  that  by  the  aid  of  a 
little  more  capital  you  could  do  very  well.  Re- 
present yourself  as  thoroughly  reformed,  and 
deeply  penitent  for  past  sins  and  iniquities,  and  as 
being  exceedingly  anxious  to  maintain  in  society 
an  honest  and  honorable  position.  All  this,  with 
amplifications,  she  can  detail  to  her  father,  wind- 
ing off  with  a  request  for  a  remittance  to  aid  you 


A   RE-UNION,   AND   CRUEL  DESERTION.  151 

in  this  praiseworthy  effort  at  reformation.  That 
will  do  the  business  for  us,  I'm  thinking." 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  feel  very  sanguine  in  re- 
ganl  to  the  result,"  replied  Ware ;  "  still  some- 
thing must  be  done,  for  business  is  dull,  and  luck 
is  against  an  empty  pocket." 

Acting  upon  this  suggestion  of  Handy,  which 
was  but  a  repetition  of  the  substance  of  former 
suggestions,  prospective  of  his  wife's  arrival,  Ware 
made  plausible  representations  to  Bell  in  regard  to 
his  position,  to  business,  his  changed  views,  and 
his  anxious  desire  to  take  a  fair  and  respectable 
station  in  the  community,  and  of  his  great  need  of 
money  to  enable  him  to  prosecute  his  business 
with  success.  Entering  into  all  he  said,  with  a 
deep  and  lively  interest,  Bell  at  once  volunteered 
to  write  to  her  father,  asking  him  for  money, 
which,  under  the  new  aspect  of  affairs,  she  was 
sanguine  would  be  promptly  sent. 

Accordingly,  she  wrote  at  once,  appealing  to 
him  with  all  the  pathos  and  eloquence  that'her 
heart,  warm  in  what  she  was  doing,  could  express. 
Then  came  the  days  of  suspense.  The  looking, 
and  anxious  waiting  for  a  reply.  Weeks,  and  even 
months  passed  on,  and  yet  this  suspense  was  un- 
broken. No  answer  came.  During  the  first  part 
of  this  period,  her  husband  treated  her  with  every 
kindness  and  attention.  But  his  manner  grew 
cold  as  time  elapsed  and  no  word  was  received 
from  home.  Again  and  again  she  wrote,  but  with 
no  better  success. 

One  afternoon,  five  months  from  the  day  she 
arrived  in  Galveston,  her  husband  and  his  insepa- 
rable companion  were  seated  in  the  bar-room  of 
one  of  the  principal  hotels  of  the  place,  glancing 
over  files  of  newspapers.  Among  these  fifes  were 
many  old  papers  from  the  United  States,  princi- 


152  BELL  MARTIN. 

pally  from  New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  other 
cities  on  the  sea  board. 

"Did  you  see  this 7"  suddenly  asked  Handy  in 
a  tone  of  surprise,  pushing  the  file  he  had  in  his 
hand  across  the  table  to  Ware,  and  putting  his 
fingers  upon  a  paragraph.  "Old  Martin  has 
failed !" 

"  O  no,  it  cannot  be !"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"  It  is  too  true.    Read  that." 

Ware  read  the  paragraph  pointed  out.  It  was, 
as  Handy  had  said,  too  true.  Mr.  Martin  had 
indeed  failed.  The  truth  was,  the  bankruptcy  of 
his  old  friend,  Mr.  Ware,  had  very  seriously  af- 
fected him.  Other  losses,  following  in  quick  suc- 
cession, so  crippled  his  energies,  and  cut  off  his 
resources,  that  he  had  at  last  to  yield  to  the  pres- 
sure of  uncontrollable  circumstances,  and  sink 
down  from  his  position  of  a  merchant-prince,  into 
a  state  little  above  mere  dependence. 

It  was  about  the  same  time  that  her  husband 
made  this  discovery,  that  Bell  was  running  her  eye 
over  a  file  of  papers,  likewise  from  the  United 
States.  Many  of  them  were  old,  bearing  date 
some  five  or  six  months  anterior.  Suddenly  she 
started,  as  a  familiar  name  met  her  eye,  and  then 
bent  eagerly  down  to  read  the  unexpected  para- 
graph. It  was  the  announcement  of  her  sister 
Fanny's  death,  which  took  place  in  New  York  a 
few  days  after  her  departure  from  home.  It  was 
with  difficulty  that  she  could  control  an  almost  ir- 
resistible impulse  to  utter  a  cry  of  anguish,  as  the 
paper  dropped  upon  the  floor,  so  sudden  and  ter- 
rible was  the  shock  to  her  feelings.  For  a  long 
time  she  sat  in  a  kind  of  stupor,  unable  fully  to 
realize  the  dreadful  truth.  Then  came  a  distinct 
and  acute  consciousness  of  the  sad  affliction,  ac- 
companied with  thoughts  of  her  parents,  and  chil- 
dren, and  home,  and  touches  of  regret  for  having 


A   RE-UNION,   AND   CRUEL  DESERTION.  153 

forsaken  all  for  one  who  had  already  proved  him- 
self to  have  little  true  affection  for  the  wife  he 
had  so  often  deceived,  and  had  now  lured  away 
thousands  of  miles  from  her  friends,  with  selfish 
and  mercenary  ends,  already  too  apparent  even 
to  her. 

After  the  leelings  of  Mrs.  Ware  had  calmed 
down,  in  a  degree,  she  began  to  desire  her  hus- 
band's return,  that  she  might  communicate  the  sad 
intelligence  to  him,  and  find  in  his  sympathy, 
some  relief  to  her  distressed  feelings.  Yet  even 
in  this  desire  was  mingled  a  consciousness  that 
from  him  little  comfort  would  flow ;  for  he  had,  of 
late,  grown  too  apparently  indifferent  toward  her, 
and  too  careless  of  her  comfort — often  remaining 
away  until  after  midnight,  and  frequently  not 
coming  in  until  morning. 

The  afternoon  passed  heavily  away — evening 
came,  and  hour  after  hour  rolled  by,  until  mid- 
night, and  still  poor  Mrs.  Ware  was  waiting  and 
watching  for  her  husband,  but  waiting  and  watch- 
ing in  vain.  After  midnight  she  threw  herself 
upon  the  bed,  and  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep,  full  of 
distressing  dreams,  from  which  she  awoke  at  day 
dawn,  and  found  herself  still  alone.  And  alone 
she  remained  all  through  the  day,  her  husband 
neither  returning  nor  sending  to  inform  her  of  the 
reason,  On  the  following  morning,  Mr.  Ware  not 
having  yet  made  his  appearance,  she  had  a  visit 
from  the  landlord  of  the  hotel  where  she  had  been 
since  her  arrival  at  Galveston. 

"Do  you  know  where  your  husband  is,  ma- 
dam 1"  he  asked,  abruptly,  and  yet  not  in  a  rude 
or  unkind  manner. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  do  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Ware,  the 
tears  starting  to  her  eyes,  and  seeming  ready  at 
each  moment  to  leap  forth. 

"  When  did  you  last  see  him?" 


.54  BELL   MARTIN. 

"I  have  not  seen  him  since  the  morning  of  the 
day  before  yesterday." 

"  And  never  will  again,  in  these  parts,  I  'm 
thinking,"  was  the  rough,  straight-forward  remark 
of  the  landlord,  not  rude,  nor  meant  to  be  unkind. 

"  O,  sir  !  what  do  you  mean  1"  ejaculated  poor 
Bell,  endeavoring  to  rise,  but  utterly  unable  to  do 
so. 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say,  madam.  I  only  know 
how  to  speak  the  truth,  and  that  in  a  plain,  straight- 
forward manner.  Your  husband,  I  am  told,  left 
here,  yesterday  morning,  with  a  companion,  for 
Mexico.  He  has  not  acted,  since  he  has  been  here, 
in  a  way  just  to  please  the  people,  and  finding  that 
it  would  not  be  safe  to  stay  much  longer,  he  has 
quietly  taken  himself  off.  Now,  my  advice  to  you 
is,  to  get  home  to  your  friends  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible, for  it  will  be  folly  to  hope  for  his  return.  He 
is  not  only  heavily  indebted  to  me  for  his  own  and 
your  boarding,  but  owes  a  great  many  others,  and 
will  not  be  suffered  to  come  back  to  this  place. 
And  now,  while  I  am  on  this  subject,  I  might  as 
well  say  what  you  ought  to  know,  and  that  is,  that 
he  only  induced  you  to  come  out  here,  in  the  hope 
that  large  sums  of  money  would  be  sent  to  you  by 
your  father." 

"  It  is  false,  sir !"  exclaimed  Bell,  rising  to  her 
feet  with  sudden  energy,  her  eyes  dilating  and 
flashing,  as  she  looked  the  landlord  steadily  and 
angrily  in  the  face. 

"  I  wish  from  my  heart,  for,  your  sake,  that  all  I 
have  said  were  false,"  replied  the  landlord,  in  a 
softened  tone.  "  But  it  is,  believe  me,  madam,  too 
true,  as  I  know  to  my  cost,  and  you  will  know  to 
your  sorrow." 

"O,  can  it  be  true!"  said  poor  Bell,  after  a 
pause,  clasping  her  hands  tightly  across  her  fore- 
head. Then,  as  the  conviction  came  stealing  over 


A   RE-UNION,   AND   CRUEL  DESERTION.  155 

her  mind,  that  it  was  indeed  the  truth  which  the 
straight-forward  landlord  had  uttered,  she  looked 
Up  in  his  face  and  said  in  a  broken  voice : 

"  Then,  sir,  what  can  I,  what  shall  I  do  7" 

"  Go  home  to  your  friends  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible." 

"But  I  have  no  means  of  getting  home." 

"  Then  write  to  them  at  once  to  send  you  th 
means.  You  are  welcome  to  remain  here  until  you 
get  a  remittance  from  them,  much  as  I  have  been 
deceived  and  wronged  by  your  husband." 

As  Mrs.  Ware  uttered  her  almost  inarticulate 
thanks,  the  landlord  bowed  and  left  her  alone  in 
her  chamber,  a  prey  to  most  harrowing  reflections. 
So  soon,  however,  as  she  could  compose  her 
thoughts,  she  sat  down  and  wrote  to  her  mother, 
imploring  her  to  send  her  instantly  the  means  of 
returning  home. 

Month  after  month  passed  away,  but  there  came 
no  word  from  her  husband,  nor  any  letter  from 
home.  Again  and  again  she  wrote,  but  all  her 
letters  remained  unanswered.  Grateful  for  the 
kindness  and  consideration  of  the  landlord  and  the 
different  members  of  his  family,  Mrs.  Ware,  after 
the  time  had  passed  by  in  which  she  had  hoped  to 
hear  from  her  father,  began  to  feel  that  it  was  her 
duty  to  try  and  render  them,  if  possible,  some  ser- 
vice. This  thought  was  the  form  of  acknowledge- 
ment to  herself,  of  the  heart-sickening  fear  that  her 
father  and  mother  had  cast  her  off.  Any  more  dis- 
tinct acknowledgement  of  this  fear  would  have 
been  more  than  she  could  have  borne.  Accord- 
ingly, she  proposed  to  instruct  the  landlord's  two 
daughters  in  music,  as  some  compensation  for  the 
burden  of  her  support. 

This  proposition  was  accepted,  and  in  the  oc- 
cupation of  mind  which  it  afforded,  proved  to  her 
a  great  relief  from  afflicting  thoughts.  There  be- 


A56  BELL  MARTIN. 

ing  no  music  teacher  then  in  the  town,  and  many 
young  ladies  being  extremely  desirous  to  learn, 
Mrs.  Ware  received  several  applications  to  give 
lessons,  so  soon  as  it  was  known  that  she  was  en- 
gaged in  so  doing  at  the  hotel.  For  a  time,  she 
declined  acceding  to  these  propositions,  all  her 
feelings  shrinking  away  from  such  an  exposure  of 
herseff.  But  as  month  after  month  continued  to 
pass,  and  no  tidings  came  from  home,  her  intense 
longings  to  get  back  to  her  children,  made  her 
determine  to  make  the  teaching  of  music  a  means 
of  procuring  sufficient  money  to  pay  her  passage 
to  Philadelphia.  As  soon  as  this  was  determined 
upon,  she  let  it  be  known,  and  was  at  once  en- 
gaged to  give  lessons  in  several  families. 

This  brought  her,  for  the  first  time  in  nearly 
twelve  months,  once  more  within  the  precincts  of 
the  private  domestic  circle — once  more  among 
mothers  and  their  children.  How  vividly  did  it 
bring  back  the  memories  of  home  and  the  dear 
little  ones  she  had  left  behind  her — moving  her 
often  to  tears  that  no  effort  on  her  part  could  re- 
strain. In  more  than  one  family  where  she  gave 
lessons,  a  strong  interest  was  felt  in  her ;  but  deli- 
cacy prevented  the  kind  inquiries  that  were  often 
ready  to  be  made.  All  felt  drawn  toward  her,  for 
all  saw  and  felt  that  she  had  indeed  seen  better 
days — but  none  ventured  to  inquire  the  particu- 
lars of  her  history. 

Six  months  more  had  passed  wearily  away,  and 
Mrs.  Ware's  gradually  accumulating  fund  had 
nearly  reached  the  sum  required  to  pay  her  way 
to  Philadelphia,  when  nature,  too  long  and  too 
painfully  tried,  suddenly,  and  from  an  unlocked 
for  shock,  gave  way,  and  she  sunk  down  under 
the  influence  of  a  raging  fever.  For  weeks  she 
hung  lingering  on  the  brink  of  the  grave,  but 
finally  her  system  began  to  rally  and  she  slowly 


A   RE-UNION,   AND   CRUEL   DESERTION.  157 

recovered,  but  did  not  regain  her  former  strength. 
Her  nervous  system  was  much  shattered  and  her 
spirits  almost  entirely  gone.  Few  were  aware  of 
the  cause  of  her  severe  illness.  It  was  this.  A 
Houston  paper  had  fallen  in  her  way,  and  there 
she  read  the  summary  execution  of  two  men, 
under  Lynch  law,  by  hanging.  Full  particulars 
were  given.  They  had  been  detected  in  cheating 
at  cards,  when  a  quarrel  ensued,  and  a  young  man 
who  had  been  engaged  with  them  was  killed.  The 
incensed  populace  at  once  wrecked  their  ven- 
geance on  the  gamblers. — Their  names  were  giv- 
en as  Johnson,  alias  Ware,  and  Haines,  alias 
Handy.  A  long  history  of  their  previous  lives  wras 
appended,  relating  minutely  the  particulars  of  the 
forgery  in  Philadelphia,  the  scene  on  the  Missis- 
sippi, with  many  other  things  new  and  startling 
to  the  already  too  deeply  afflicted  wife.  In  closing 
the  narrative,  it  was  added  that  he  had  induced 
hlfe  wife  to  leave  her  home  and  join  him  a  few 
months  before  in  Galveston,  where  he  had  heart- 
lessly forsaken  her  in  a  strange  place,  among 
strangers,*  and  penniless.  "Although,"  finally 
added  the  account,  "  we  cannot  sanction  the  sum- 
mary proceedings  in  this  case,  yet  we  do  sincerely 
rejoice  that  we  have  been  freed,  even  in  this  way, 
of  two  of  the  most  unprincipled  scoundrels  that 
ever  disgraced  this  part  of  the  country." 

When  Mrs.  Ware  arose  from  the  severe  illness 
occasioned  by  this  dreadful  news  her  spirits  were 
gone,  as  has  been  stated,  and  her  nervous  system 
sadly  shattered.  The  kindness  of  the  hotel  keeper 
and  his  family  had  enabled  her  to  retain  unbroken 
her  little  treasure,  amounting  to  between  sixty  and 
seventy  dollars,  and  with  this,  as  soon  as  she  was 
able  to  start,  she  took  passage  for  New  Orleans. 
She  arrived  safely  there,  after  a  quick  voyage,  and 
on  the  day  following  went  on  board  of  a  boat  that 
14 


158  BELL   MARTIN. 

was  up  for  Louisville.  Two  tedious  weeks  were 
consumed  in  reaching  the  falls  of  the  Ohio. 
Hence  she  proceeded,  without  waiting  a  single 
day,  to  Wheeling.  But  alas  !  when  she  arrived 
at  Wheeling,  she  found  herself  with  but  four  dol- 
lars, and  the  fare  to  Baltimore  alone  was  fourteen, 
exclusive  of  the  expense  of  meals. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

CONCLUSION. 

ONE  evening,  about  two  months  from  the  day 
on  which  Mrs.  Ware  arrived  at  Wheeling,  there 
sat,  conversing,  in  the  handsomely  furnished  par- 
lors of  a  house  in  Baltimore,  a  man  and  his  wife, 
still  youthful  in  appearance,  but  with  a  sober  ex- 
pression resting  on  their  countenances.  They  had, 
evidently,  known  care  and  anxiety,  but  from  the 
fact  that  no  harsh  lines  marred  the  quiet  tone  of 
their  faces,  it  was  evident  that  their  cares  had  been 
for  others,  more  than  for  themselves.  The  man 
held  an  open  letter  in  his  hand,  the  contents  of 
which  formed  the  subject  of  conversation. 

"  There  can  be  little  doubt,"  remarked  the  wife, 
"  that  Bell's  husband  is  the  person  to  whom 
allusion  is  made.  If  she  be  still  living,  which  I 
fear  is  not  the  case,  she  was,  doubtless,  in  company 
with  him  in  Texas,  when  he  met  his  awful  fate." 


CONCLUSION.  159 

"  What  more  can  be  done  ?"  said  Mrs.  Lane 
(The  reader  has,  of  course,  already  recognised  Ma 
ry  and  her  husband.)  "  We  must  not  give  her  up." 

"  No,  not  until  she  be  found,  living  or  dead.  If 
moved  by  no  other  consideration,  I  cannot  break 
the  solemn  promise  I  made  to  old  Mr.  Martin,  but 
an  hour  before  his  overburdened  spirit  took  from 
earth  its  everlasting  departure.  Nor  the  repeated 
assurance  to  Bell's  mother,  ere  she,  too,  followed 
quickly  her  husband's  footsteps." 

"It  is  now  nearly  two  years  since  Bell  went 
away,"  said  Mrs.  Lane,  after  a  thoughtful  silence. 
"  Two  years  !  How  like  a  painful  dream  do  the 
events  of  that  brief  period  come  back  upon  the 
memory  !" 

"  Painful,  indeed  to  me.  But,  I  can  well  be- 
lieve, far  more  painful  to  you,  Mary,"  her  hus- 
band replied.  "  How  utterly  has  the  family  of 
Mr.  Martin  been  broken  up,  and  well  nigh  extin- 
guished." 

"  Strange  and  mysterious  are  the  ways  of  Pro- 
vidence," Mary  remarked,  in  a  mournful  tone. 

"  To  me,  there  is  nothing  like  mystery  connect" 
ed  with  the  sad  vicissitudes  which  have  taken 
place  in  Mr.  Martin's  family.  Most  of  them,  1 
can  readily  trace  to  a  clearly  apparent  cause— 
and.  that  cause,  the  marriage  of  Bell. 

"That  it  would  cause  Mr.  Martin  to  lose  his 
property,  I  began  to  fear  soon  after  the  marriage. 
The  wicked  manner  in  which  Ware  had  deceived 
both  his  own  and  Mr.  Martin's  family,  and  the 
consequent  unhappiness  of  Bell,  so  unsettled  his 
mind,  that  he  no  longer  gave  that  calm,  earnest 


160  BELL  MARTIN. 

attention  to  business  which  had  heretofore  cha- 
racterized him.  Frequent  losses  were  the  conse- 
quence, which  now  always  irritated,  and  made 
him  less  fitted  for  new  transactions.  The  intima- 
cy between  him  and  old  Mr.  Ware  likewise  par- 
took of  a  different  character.  Their  business  was 
more  mingled — while  neither  of  them  was  so  well 
fitted  for  making  good  operations  as  before.  At 
the  time  of  Mr.  Ware's  failure,  Mr.  Martin  was 
responsible  for  him  to  a  heavy  amount.  The  pay- 
ment of  this  crippled  him  very  much.  Then  oc- 
curred the  double  shock  of  Bell's  secret  departure 
from  home,  and  Fanny's  sudden  death.  And  fol- 
lowing, in  quick  succession,  came  a  crisis  in  his 
business,  which  ended  in  utter  bankruptcy.  He 
survived  this  last  shock,  you  know,  only  four 
weeks.  Can  you  not  now  see  how  the  marriage 
of  Bell  led  to  all  the  sad  results  that  followed  ?" 

"  Hark  ?  Was  not  that  a  groan  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Lane.  "  There  !  Did  you  hear  it  again  ?  It 
seemed  to  come  from  under  our  window." 

Mr.  Lane  paused  to  listen,  when  the  sound  came 
again,  distinct  and  mournful.  He  then  arose,  and 
proceeded  to  the  door  to  ascertain  the  cause. 

The  reader  has  discovered  enough  in  the  con- 
versation which  passed  between  Mary  Lane  and 
her  husband  to  enable  him  to  connect  pretty  dis- 
tinctly the  whole  chain  of  events  in  the  history 
now  drawing  to  a  close.  Lane  is  partner  in  a  large 
commission  house,  in  Baltimore.  As  the  rich  mer- 
chant went  rapidly  down,  the  obscure,  but  honest, 
intelligent  clerk,  was  slowly  rising.  The  two  chil- 
dren left  by  Bell,  have  been  taken  into  Mary's  fold 


CONCLUSION.  161 

and  affections,  and  are  loved  equally  with  her 
own. 

On  the  same  evening,  in  the  passage  of  which 
the  scene  and  conversation,  above  recorded,  took 
place,  poor  Bell  arrived  in  the  city.  She  had 
walked  nearly  half  the  distance  from  Wheeling 
to  Baltimore,  riding  the  other  half  of  the  way 
through  the  kind  indulgence  of  a  humane  wagon- 
er. Two  months  had  been  consumed  in  the  jour- 
ney— six  weeks  of  which  time  she  lay  at  the  house 
of  a  farmer,  who  had  picked  her  up,  fainting,  on 
the  road. 

Arrived  at  Baltimore,  her  clothes  soiled  and 
worn,  without  one  cent  to  buy  a  mouthful  of  food* 
and  ill  from  fatigue  and  loss  of  rest,  she  descend- 
ed from  the  wagon,  and  turned  away,  with  weak 
and  trembling  limbs,  to  go  she  knew  not  where. 
Thoughts  of  home,  and  parents,  and  children, 
roused  her  up  for  a  few  moments,  but  her  spirit 
quickly  sunk,  while  her  limbs  trembled  more  and 
more  as  she  walked  slowly  along.  At  last  she  grew 
so  faint  that  she  had  to  pause  and  lean  against 
something  for  support.  Then  she  gradually  sunk 
down  upon  the  pavement,  overcome  with  a  feeling 
of  deathly  sickness,  and  soon  became  insensible. 

How  long  she  remained  in  that  condition  she 
knew  not.  When  consciousness  again  returned, 
a  great  change  had  taken  place.  She  was  lying 
upon  a  bed,  in  a  handsomely  furnished  chamber, 
and  as  she  turned  her  eyes  slowly  around,  some 
few  objects  looked  to  her  strangely  familiar.  In 
attempting  to  move,  she  felt  very  weak,  but  had 
no  sensation  of  pain  or  sickness.  No  one  appear- 


162  BELL  MARTIX. 

ed  to  her  to  be  in  the  room,  and  she  lay  for  many 
minutes  endeavoring  in  vain  to  settle  the  ques- 
tion whether  she  were  really  awake  or  dreaming. 

"  Where  am  I  ?"  she  at  length  murmured,  half 
audibly. 

The  sound  of  her  voice  startled  a  female,  before 
hid  by  the  curtains  of  the  bed,  who  sprung  foward, 
and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  into  her  face. 

"  Mary  !  dear  Mary  !  is  it  indeed  you  1  or  is 
this  but  a  mocking  dream  ?"  ejaculated  Bell,  rising 
up  quickly,  and  falling  forward  into  Mary's  arms. 

"  You  are  Bell ! — my  long  lost,  long  mourned, 
dear  sister  Bell !  And  I  am  Mary !"  whispered 
Mrs.  Lane,  as  she  drew  Bell  to  her  heart,  in  a 
long  embrace. 

"  And  my  children  !  O,  Mary,  where  are  they  ?" 

Mary  did  not  reply  to  this,  but  left  the  bed 
and  stepped  quickly  out  of  the  room.  When 
she  returned  with  Bell's  two  children,  so  little 
changed  to  the  mother's  eye,  that  she  almost 
sprung  from  the  bed  the  moment  their  bright  young 
faces  came  in  sight.  How  tenderly — how  wildly 
did  Mrs.  Ware  clasp  to  her  bosom  these  dear 
treasures,  once  more  restored  to  her ! 

We  care  not  to  pain  the  reader  with  an  account 
of  her  grief  on  learning  the  death  of  her  parents. 
Let  that  sleep  with  her  subsequent  history,  which 
only  contains  this  much  of  interest  to  the  reader, 
that  she  found  with  Mary  and  her  husband  a  per- 
manent and  peaceful  home. 


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